


Spoils of War

by littlechinesedoll



Series: Cum Dumpster Bruce Wayne [62]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Krypton (TV 2018), Superman - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha!Kal, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Battle Trophy, Cinderella!Bruce, Derogatory Language, DisneyPrincess!Bruce, Duke!Kal, Emotional Constipation, Execution, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Merida!Bruce, Mpreg, Omega!Bruce, Prince Bruce, Slow Burn, War Trophy, Warlord!Kal, also lots of witcher!henry gifs, basically princess bruce, basically this whole thing was written because geralt!kal became a thing, he just looks like geralt, human trophy, lots of creative liberties going on, no kal isn't a witcher, this whole thing is very inaccurate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 29,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21779941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlechinesedoll/pseuds/littlechinesedoll
Summary: “If I go with you as a spoil of this pointless war, will you leave?” Bruce stands his ground, terrified and shaking, but he keeps eye contact with the warlord.“Excuse me?” Kal must be hearing things.“If I go with you, if I serve you, will you let my people live? Will you let my brother live?”
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Series: Cum Dumpster Bruce Wayne [62]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/500257
Comments: 918
Kudos: 1653





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> haven't written anything decent in like
> 
> idk probably three months
> 
> so please forgive the shitty
> 
> i am no fantasy writer
> 
> idea from the lovely people from discord

“That’s enough!”

Kal’s head snaps up to look at who owns the indignant voice that dares to order a warlord around.

In the middle of the lake of blood forming in the throne room, stands a pristine-looking omega in his 20th spring, in long, clean, crisp robes, the hems of which are stained with the blood of the kingdom’s soldiers.

“And who do you think you are?” Kal spits, tightening his hold on the collar of the battered king.

“I am Bruce, younger brother to Thomas II,”

“Ah, the kept prince,” says Kal, “Go. This is no place for delicate beings such as yourself,” he is about to finish off the king, the omega speaks.

“If I go with you as a spoil of this pointless war, will you leave?” Bruce stands his ground, terrified and shaking, but he keeps eye contact with the warlord.

“Excuse me?” Kal must be hearing things.

“If I go with you, if I serve you, will you let my people live? Will you let my brother live?” 

“You? Serve?” Kal scoffs. A pampered prince wants to serve him? “You’ve never worked a day in your life, child,” he eyes the prince warily as he approaches.

“I have nothing to offer but an untouched cunt and a womb, you can at least use that. But please, let my brother go,” he begs.

“My sisters are dead because of your brother,” he growled, tightening his grip on the barely breathing monarch. “And I don’t care if it’s some manipulative high priest with a maniacal political agenda behind it all—it doesn’t change their deaths!”

“I know,” he whispers. “But my people don’t deserve this. High Priest Luthor has atoned for his sins with his own death, and my brother will pay for his by giving me to you, Alpha,”

Hearing the omega address him as such makes his nostrils flare. He does smell rather inviting, all virginal with soft, smooth, and fair skin, ready to be defiled and marked.

Kal almost throws the king onto the throne room’s stone floor.

Bruce almost doesn’t catch his brother’s body and drops to his knees to cradle him, blood soaking through the thin, white robes. “Thomas,” he cries.

“You get only a moment with him, and you’ll not get to bring anything with you,” Kal sheathes his sword. “I’ll let your healers tend to him. If you do not come when I call for you, I will take you by force,”


	2. Chapter 2

The warlord doesn’t call for him.

It’s well after sundown and he’s just finished tending to his brother’s wounds. Many of the deep cuts have been stitched up, the bleeding has been stopped, and he’s been cleaned and put to bed. He sings the sleeping king a lullaby or two before he gathers his bloodied robes and leaves the mending to the healers.

In the joined study room, he places himself at the king’s desk and writes short but heartfelt letters addressed to the people and to those who have loyally served them, giving them the explanation they are owed; and to his brother, who will grieve and mourn.

When a servant brings him fresh clothes and tells him a warm bath has been prepared for him. He declines. He will wear the blood of his people on him as long as he can today.

“Your Highness, are you alright?”

James, the captain of the guards, bows when he sees him exit the king’s chambers.

Bruce deflects the question. “Where is Luthor’s body?”

“We’ve moved him together with the rest of the fallen. They’re ready for the pyre,”

“No,” Bruce says. “Remove his robes. Quarter the body and leave it at the edge of the woods. The wolves will take care of it,”

In the dark, cold, torchlit hallway, the captain can’t seem to find the right words to ask why the High Priest isn’t allowed a funeral ceremony.

“Listen well, for I will only say this once,” there is a lump in his throat. “Luthor manipulated my brother into invading the warlord’s territory, into this war, for his own gain, to add to his power, never for the best and benefit of those around him. His death is a relief for us all and wandering lost for eternity in purgatory is not enough punishment. But in this war, though only a pawn, my brother is not without his own sins. And so, Captain,” he pauses to take a breath. “I shall pay for them,”

James knows. The throne room is as immense as the castle that houses it. Words spoken in it will be heard across the castle if the speaker desires it. “Take care of him, James. Make sure he heals. He will grieve, and so will I,”

“We shall celebrate you, My Prince, never mourn,” the captain bows once more.

“Good night, Captain,”

“Until we meet again, Bruce,”

Bruce gives him a nod, and in the dark of the night, leaves the castle.

* * *

At the makeshift camp by the offensive kingdom out on the castle grounds, from the corner of his eye, in the light of the moon and stars high above them, Kal sees the young prince approach him as he brushes the mane of his beastly white horse.

“You didn’t call for me,”

Kal deposits the brush into his saddlebags. He turns to Bruce to raise a brow. “Did I need to?”

Bruce sighs. “No, My Lord,”

“Has your brother been tended to?”

“Yes, My Lord. He’s resting,”

He offers his hand to the omega. To his surprise, Bruce takes it. “This is Krypto,” he ushers Bruce closer to the horse. “He’ll be our companion throughout the ride back to my lands. You may touch him if you like,”

With much caution, Bruce reaches for the horse’s nose. He doesn’t know why he’s relieved when the horse nudges his nose into Bruce’s hand, welcoming the touch. “He is beautiful,”

Kal hums. “Mount. We’re leaving,”

Bruce pets Krypto some more. “Yes, My Lord,”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea what im doing ahahahahaha
> 
> also @indecisive ilusm, 
> 
> and 
> 
> @mistyawn you enabler you. ;)

The ride to the lord’s settlement takes almost five days. They could have made it in less, but Kal required the company to take many breaks to rest themselves after the fight at Gotham, and also to rest the horses.

But Bruce knows and hears the soldiers bicker and gossip, that his lordship stops because he’s granting Bruce his last few days of pampering. He’s not used to travelling so long without his own carriage full of pillows, refreshments, and an aide, so they stop frequently, following the river to refill their flasks and cool themselves.

In those five days, Bruce lets the blood of his people crust, dry, and rot on him. His dresses are filthy, he smells of sweat, horse, and soil, yet he declines every offer of a change of clothes, and only accepts the robes handed to him after he’s presented with a tub with warm water, soap, and oils, soon after they arrive at the settlement.

“His Lordship has tasked us with your bath,” says the servant boy.

Bruce wants so much to jump into the water, but the reason for this terrifies him. “I…will he be calling for me?”

“I don’t know, Master,” he answers. “I can take your clothes and wash them if you like,”

“No,” Bruce answers almost too quickly.

With some wariness, the boy leaves the room to give Bruce some privacy, for which Bruce is grateful.

The room is bare. Warm from the weather, cold from disuse. It’s even less than an eighth of his own chambers, so small it reminds Bruce of the dungeons under their castle.

He sighs, carefully peeling off his robes and dresses, and sets down his necklaces, earrings, and hair jewelry on the vanity by the tub.

It’s the most satisfying bath he’s had, free from days’ worth of accumulated filth. The scents aren’t as luxurious as his own collection at home, but he scrubs and scrubs and stays until the water is cold. The bloodied robes he neatly folds before depositing it and his jewelry in a chest he found under the vanity, then hides it under the bed.

The servant boy doesn’t come back, for that, Bruce can’t thank the gods enough. There is no summon from the Lord yet and even though Bruce offered himself, he’s not ready to be bedded.

Loneliness and realization only sink in when he’s dressed, laying on the hard bed with straw pillows, and itchy blankets. He falls asleep longing for his brother’s love and company, and the smooth sheets and soft pillows from home.

\---

When he wakes, the servant boy from last night is in his room, setting a plate of what seems to be breakfast down on the vanity.

“Please eat, Master,” he says, “His Lordship wants to see you right away,”

The plate is meager: a slice of what seems to be day old bread, a sliver of cheese, and a small apple with a cup of water. But Bruce feels like it’s a banquet. He almost inhales it—he hasn’t had proper food since their ride from Gotham.

“Come,” the boy says, when he finishes his meal. “Hurry,”

Bruce is led out of the room and discovers he’s unguarded. He wonders why.

They walk through endless halls and Bruce can’t help but compare this manor with his own home. He suppresses a sigh.

After turning a few corners and passing through some common areas, Bruce is led into a large study, filled with bookshelves and papers strewn about.

The door is shut beside him.

“Good, you’re awake,”

The gruff voice only startles him somewhat.

Bruce bows. “My Lord,”

Kal comes out from one the archways leading into the adjoining room. “Sleep well?”

“Yes, My Lord,” he lies. His slumber was light, his body aches from the tough bed, and his skin itches from the straw. He knows the lord can tell that he’s lying.

With a hum of acknowledgement, Kal leans his behind on the desk, facing Bruce. “I called you here to discuss the conditions of your stay,”

“I’d hardly call it a stay,” Bruce mumbles out thoughtlessly. When he realizes what he’s just said he attempts at an apology. “I’m sorry, My Lord, I—”

This makes the Lord raise a brow. “Delicate you are not. Smooth hands and a sharp tongue, but,” he says, “Those hands aren’t staying smooth for long. I expect you to pull your own weight, Bruce. You are no prince here. A war trophy, yes, but you’re no trophy to be kept pretty on a shelf nor a whore to warm my bed. You will work for your food and shelter, just like everybody else,”

“There were no guards at the door last night?” Bruce dares ask. “I thought you’d…try to keep me in,”

“What makes you think I don’t have anyone watching you? Do you want me to make it impossible for you to sleep in peace? I already know how little you slept the last few days judging by your pallid complexion and the dark circles of your eyes,”

Kal notices the absence of jewelry. Suddenly, the prince looks small and scared, but still trying to hold some semblance of dignity, something he’s impressed by.

“Though for a moment there, I thought you wanted me to keep you in. Why, did have plans to leave your room in the middle of the night and escape?”

“No, My Lord,”

For some reason, Kal is angry. “May a remind you that I took you home as a trophy because you offered to pay for your brother's sins. You are here of your own will. You are free to do as you please. You are free to leave or take your own life, but if you do, I will go back to your kingdom and kill your brother. This is the price you are willing to pay,”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check out the first chapter again please! i edited in the photo/gif that inspired this. :)

Bruce wears long tunics and a brown kirtle most of the time. It’s thin, not as soft as his own dresses, and he feels rashes forming everywhere, but he doesn’t ask where the healer is. It is what’s given to him and he’ll not complain if he wants food to eat and a bed at night.

His hair is neatly tucked into a braid to keep it from his face as he works. He misses the way Selina, his waiting maid, brushes the knots and tangles away to keep his hair healthy and soft. He tries to do his best with a wooden comb, hoping he won’t have to cut it all away if it becomes too unruly.

He meets his overseers, Mercy—the one who is in charge of the laundry; and Martha—the one who is in charge of the chambers. In the mornings, when he is to gather clothes and linens for washing, he cleans the chambers his visits, then bring the laundry down to wash.

Mercy, for indeed she is merciful. With a great amount of patience, she teaches Bruce the ways of the castle. It takes Bruce close to a moon before he gets used to all that he needs to do when it comes to the laundry. Martha, too, has the patience of a saint and doesn’t shame Bruce for his ignorance.

He’s grateful that he only has to do the gathering of linens and clothes, and washing, and not the wringing and drying. In the afternoon, after he’s done with the washing and passed it on to the wringers, he dries himself and takes tea and biscuits up to His Lordship, who is almost always in discussion with this own crowd of aldermen.

Today he asks Mercy to let him work in the kitchens for a few days to let his hands heal. He’s been washing clothes and sheets for hours every day and his hands are beginning to dry out, the tips of his fingers are cracking from the harshness of the soap and bleed from the scrubbing.

“Go to the healer for some more salve,” Mercy tells him, handing him a pot of the thing and some bandages.

“Thank you,” he says, and goes back to his rooms to lather the salve on burns and cracks of his hands. He doesn’t put much on, just enough to cover them, and wraps his hands.

He doesn’t put some on the itches of his beck and body either. He must obey, do his job, not complain, blend in to this household and let them forget how he came to serve here.

It is when he deposits the salve into the drawers of his vanity that he realizes he hasn’t written a single letter nor read a single book in weeks. He used to do nothing but write his letters. He now knows why, even though he’s told a maid and a boy or two to try their best, they never end up learning anything due to the amount work to be done to keep a house afloat. All there is to do is work and sleep. Sometimes there is no time to eat.

He rushes out of his room and to the kitchens, where the tray is ready. He grabs it and walks as fast as he can up to the Lord’s study—he’s late.

Today, when he enters, the Lord is alone. He bows at the threshold, then sets the tray down on the dining table near the study.

“Stay,” the lord says when Bruce moves to leave, not bothering to look up from the documents he’s perusing. “Close the door,”

Soldiers at guard obey and Bruce is left in the room alone with the Lord.

This is the first time Bruce has been told to stay after weeks of delivering tea, and the first time he’s gotten a good look at him without all the blood and dirt in his face, his hair neatly tied back, wearing clothes that actually fit a man of his position, and cleanly shaven. Bruce is embarrassed to admit to himself that His Lordship is indeed a handsome man—broad and built quite hardily.

The quill is returned to its inkwell before the lord lifts his head to face Bruce. “What happened to your hands?” he asks, though he knows exactly why a prince’s hands are bandaged after suddenly being thrust to work when he’s never worked a day in his life.

Bruce wants to lie but decides against it. “They’re… burnt from the washing, My Lord,” he doesn’t say that his fingertips are bleeding and holding small things with them reopen the cracks.

“I see,” he stands up and fishes for something from the drawers behind him. “Sit,”

The once prince obeys, sitting at the table he set the tea down on.

Kal brings him salve, then undoes the bandages of his hands. “You did a poor job bandaging yourself and didn’t put enough salve,” he says as he slathers on the thick substance.

“Madam Mercy gave me a small pot, and I didn’t want to bother the healer with something so trivial,”

“The healer’s job is to be bothered by trivial matters such as washing burnt hands,” Kal wraps Bruce’s hands properly and Bruce discovers he can move them properly now, unlike his feeble attempt.

Kal, notices some little things about the young prince. The omega did dress quite modestly before his servitude aside from the jewels decorating his neck, ears, and hair, but the plainness and messiness of his kirtle and apron do nothing to diminish his beauty. He still stands high, with poise and grace, and with no doubt does his tasks with as much dignity as he did as a prince. He does look rather stale, but Kal attributes that to the number of hours of immense physical labor he isn’t accustomed to.

The lord alpha almost wants to hit himself in the face. He knows by his scent he’s nearing his heat. The scent that would drive any other alpha mad and immediately try to bite the omega’s neck, to claim and mark the body untainted by sins of the flesh. He wants the boy. But he knows it’s only his knot talking. There is no honor in forcing an omega into his bed, no matter how much he wants such beastly pleasures. Respect doesn’t make history, but he hopes his people will uphold that respect.

“You may go, and take the pot with you. Have the healer change your bandages twice a day. You’ll recover faster that way,”

Bruce rises to his feet, takes a bow, and moves to leave. But before he opens the door, Kal leaves him with some parting words.

“And Bruce, ask the healer for some tea to help with your courses. I believe you’re due for it soon. There is nothing to fret. Only I am the alpha in the castle and I am far enough away from you during the night but still, lock your doors and stock up on water and food,”

Bruce knows that. The soldiers guarding the castle from the inside are all betas, and all domestic positions aside from the castle’s steward, are omegas. “Yes, My Lord,” he bows once more and leaves.

Kal lets out a frustrated grunt.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no idea what im doing nor where this is going ahahahaha 
> 
> please forgive mistakes it is 1am and i am sick
> 
> also no gifs for this one i am sorry

When Kal pushes the parchment away accidentally topples over the inkwell.

“Fuck,” he curses, bringing the glass bottle upright before it spills more ink into the papers.

It’s been weeks and all he’s doing is attempt at undoing the damage Thomas has done. Countless dead, even more in mourning. It was dumb to let Gotham go. He should have just looted it and left, just so he can replenish what was lost; or somehow compensate the bereaved families—aside from a useless medal and a hero’s burial because that can’t feed mouths.

He groans.

He didn’t even have anything to gain from taking Bruce from his kingdom, other than the satisfaction of knowing Thomas is in suffering. Kal knows just how much the prince meant to the king, keeping him untouched and unmated for so long when others would have their omegas promised to an alpha the moment their cycles started, sometimes even at birth.

With much annoyance, he plugs the inkwell to keep it from drying, then goes out for a walk. There is too much on his mind for him to fall asleep. Maybe a swim ought to help.

* * *

Try as he may, Bruce absolutely will _not_ work through another day without a bath.

On the day he arrived, he’d been given a tub and warm water. That was it and it had not happened again. All he had in his room was a basin and a pitcher of water for washing the most important bits.

So despite being bone-tired, Bruce, with a lamp to light the way, sneaks out in the night to a pond in the forest behind the castle, bringing with him his wooden comb, a tiny knob of soap, and a small rag.

He undoes his braid, folds his clothes neatly in a pile beside the lamp by the bank, sits at the shore, and dips his legs in. It’s cold but it gives Bruce the feeling of refreshment he’d been craving that no pitcher and basin of water could ever give him. He’s already impressed with himself by how much he let the grime and sweat accumulate before giving up.

The rag he lathers with soap and scrubs himself all over before rinsing the soap off of the rag and wringing as much water as he can out of it before fully submerging himself into the water. He proceeds to wash his face, then lather his hair with the soap, noting as he rinses to ask for some oils to massage into his scalp.

Bruce lets out a breath of relief, looking up at the moon half hiding in the clouds. How relaxing. He never would have imagined washing his face would one day be a luxury.

Before the cold sinks into his bones and leads to a fever, he emerges from the water, wrings the water out of his hair, and dries himself as best as he can with the rag before dressing himself.

“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out here?”

Bruce isn’t done lacing up his kirtle—there’s a man, an alpha, approaching him. At first glance, he assumes the man is a hunter.

“In the dark?”

In the moonlight, now that the clouds have cleared, Bruce can clearly see the malicious smirk. He takes a lungful of air, and there, he smells it—the man is inebriated and by the looks of his breeches, ruttish. Not enough that his steps swing, but enough for bad decisions or for true colors to fly.

“All fresh and naked and alone?”

“Why,” Bruce answers, taking a few steps forward to meet the alpha. “Waiting for you, of course,”

* * *

Kal almost charges at the hunter who dares attempt to touch an omega, but he doesn’t expect Bruce to utter the words he just heard.

“Why, waiting for you, of course,” he says it with such seductive silkiness, the voice travels from Kal’s ears to his breeches.

He sees his new servant lower the tunic from his shoulder, exposing skin.

“Yeah?” grins the hunter, lifting his hands to touch Bruce’s hips.

And then he notices Bruce reach for both the hunter’s knives with such a light hand, even Kal himself wouldn’t have felt it had it been him in the hunter’s place. Not waiting another moment, Bruce presses the blade into the hunter’s throat, and pins him back onto a tree.

“Get your hands off me,” Bruce hisses.

The alpha tries to push Bruce away in an effort to overpower him, “Crazy whore—” but puts his arms up in defeat when the omega presses the blade down hard enough to draw blood.

“You will not do this again. If I hear of you mistreating omegas, I will come for you,” the other knife he presses into the alpha’s groin, tearing through the breaches. ”And cut your cock off with your own knives,”

“I won’t! I promise! Just let me go!”

The terror in his voice somehow makes Kal proud. Bruce has a lion in him.

Bruce steps back and the hunter falls as he tries to run as fast as his drunken legs can. “Thank you for the knives,” he calls after him, then pockets them and continues to lace his kirtle.

Kal lets him finish dressing before stepping out of the shadow of the trees. “That’s quite impressive,”

The lord gives Bruce a little start. He bows. “Good evening, My Lord,”

“Where did you learn that?”

“Oh, here and there,” Bruce says airily, gathering his soap and oil lamp to avoid spending more time with another alpha in the dark.

“You’re not just some delicate prince tucked away behind your castle walls, are you?”

Bruce throws the knives at Kal’s feet. “I’m no prince, My Lord. Not anymore. Just a servant. Good night,” he says, bows once more, and leaves.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk politics so let's pretend i know what im doing

Bruce isn’t one to abandon responsibility. Despite how much he wants to avoid His Lordship after last night, he takes the tray of tea and cake up to his study, hoping he’ll only have to leave it there and go on his way.

However, it seems like the gods aren’t on Bruce’s side.

When soldiers open the doors, he pauses at the threshold to bow, then enters and sets the tray down on the dining table.

Kal is speaking with his aldermen and it seems these meetings are becoming more and more often. Something must be wrong.

“What do you think, Bruce?”

His name comes to him as a surprise. “Yes, My Lord?” he had been purposely not listening.

One of four alpha aldermen look at Kal with incredulity. “What’s asking a servant going to do? It’s not like he knows anything. Probably can’t even read,”

Kal ignores him. “How do you think we can improve the income of the duchy without another hike in taxes?”

Bruce feels cornered. The last thing he wants is attention, and by answering truthfully, he risks humiliating them in front of their lord and might come for him.

“I’ve noticed a lot of—”

“Yes, thank you for your input, omega, that was indeed eye-opening. You may go,” says the same alderman.

Bruce takes this as a cue to leave immediately.

“Stay where you are, Bruce,” says Kal, and then turns to the alderman. “And you shut your fucking mouth. One more word out of you and you’ll be removed from this room and your position. I’ve had enough bullshit from the four of you. Now, Bruce, you were saying?”

“Daxamites, I’ve noticed many Daxamites in the market, purchasing large amounts of barley and rye for making ale it seems. They’ve not enough fertile land or farmers, but they have breweries that we don’t. We have a surplus of crop, including wheat and oats for flour and livestock feed, even tea leaves, and we import enough ale from them to open a trade agreement. The road to Daxam is rough, but if we trade with them, we can, with their help, ease the road and implement tariffs for the importation. It may sound like slow progress, but it can also open more opportunities to trade with other territories in the future,”

Kal gives the four officials glares. “Did any of you notice this?” he demands of them. “How did my maid, from with in my castle, deduce a solution like this from visiting the market twice a week?”

When none of them answer, he sends them away. “Go. I’ll summon you when I need you. Bruce, stay,”

“Your Lordship—”

“I SAID GO!”

The aldermen shuffle out, and Bruce is again left with Kal alone.

Kal sighs, closes his eyes, and takes a few moments to gather himself and a few breaths. When he opens them, Bruce has served him slice of cake and a cup of tea.

“You need a nap,” says Bruce.

Kal laughs. Indeed, Bruce is no delicate flower. He is fierce and sharp. And Kal is wasting him away serving tea and cake.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahahaha idk i couldn't sleep and idk how duchies work bye
> 
> HAPPY NEW YEAR

“How is he?” Kal asks Martha.

“He’ll get through it,” she says. It is she who’s been bringing him his tray of tea and cake the last few days. “Though he might think he’s at death’s door. It is after all, his first heat without all the comforts he’s known all his life,”

He stares at the prepared food. “Was I wrong in taking him?”

“If you heard the right answer to that, would it change anything?”

With a reply such as that, it makes it difficult for Kal to meet the eye of the woman who raised him. But she’s right—nothing will change the pain inflicted on the people who’ve lost family in this war, and the decisions Bruce chose to suffer in his brother’s stead. “He’s more than he led me to believe,”

“And you are more than you led him to believe,” counters Martha. “Isn’t that what all this lord and ladyship is all about?”

Kal sighs. “Is he well?” he tries again. “Not just with the heat, with…everything,”

“He’s a fast learner, keeps to himself, only speaks when spoken to, doesn’t try to make friends, goes straight to his room at the end of the day,” she says. “You plucked a flower from the ground and now it’s wilting. But that’s enough chat, my dear. I’ve got a castle to run,”

He hears her leave. He doesn’t eat the cake.

* * *

When Bruce returns to his duties a week later, the drafts for the trade agreement have been written out by Kal’s finance chapter and the lord is preparing for the five-day journey to Daxam to present his proposal.

“I’ll be back in a fortnight,” he tells Bruce when he arrives with this tea and cake. He doesn’t know why tells him of his return. “We leave in the morn, before the sun rises,” 

Bruce serves him his afternoon refreshments. The cake this time is sweet bread with jam and a little cream. “Will you be needing anything else, My Lord?”

“No, Bruce, thank you, that’s all,”

Kal watches him bow and leave. He then wonders, Bruce must have never bowed to anyone else other than his brother only because he is king, yet here he is now keeping his head low and bowing whenever in his presence.

* * *

Bruce even surprises himself when he finds the bi-weekly trips to the market enjoyable. It may sound confusing, but the chaos and noise he finds entertaining, to find people so in their element, dealing with hagglers, peddling their wares. There are so many colors, of dry and wet goods, crops, clothes, there’s even an armorer and a smith. There’s a stall full of trinkets, another of shoes, and there’s a stall Bruce keeps visiting (after he’s done all the shopping for the kitchens of course), one full of the prettiest shawls he’s ever seen.

He just looks, of course. The merchant, a kind old man, lets him admire all the soft, colorful fabric. Back home he would have bought the merchant of all his inventory and kept all his favorite ones, and gifted away all the rest. Now he can only look at them. He is a servant working for food and lodging, thus, has no wages. He also promised himself that he’d only sell his jewelry for something of great importance.

“You!”

Someone grabs his arm hard enough to bruise and drags him into an alley, away from the crowd. “Hey!”

It’s the alderman who shooed him away during their meeting with His Lordship. “The fuck you think you are, you little whore?” he pushes him to the ground, muddying Bruce’s kirtle and apron, sending his basket of veggies and whatnot for the kitchens strewn all across the mud.

“Those are for the kitchens!” Bruce yells as he steps on and cruses the produce, and tear open the bag of oats and flour.

“You think you can humiliate me in front of His Lordship and get away with it?” he hisses.

Bruce gets up, feeling the wetness of the mud sinking into his undergarments. “I already have, haven’t I? You’re lucky all he did was send you out,” he then parrots what the alderman had said about him. “’It’s not like he knows anything. Probably can’t even read,’”

The alderman draws his knife from its scabbard. “Fucking witch—”

Bruce notices some familiar faces at the alley entrance. It’s a couple of the castle guards. “Oh, dear, you’ve found me out,” he drawls, voice getting louder.

“Shut up!” he lunges, but Bruce steps away from him, letting the alderman slip on the mud and lose his balance, but he doesn’t fall.

“About what? That you’ve established your own tariff on the Daxamites coming to buy crop from your market? Right to your own pocket? You and the three other pigs? Wasn’t difficult to deduce that from the months’ worth of excuses and lies you’ve fed His Lordship,”

“You’ve been eavesdropping!”

Bruce rolls his eyes. “No need to. You’re not so smart. And I can’t read, remember?”

The alderman is about to lunge again when the castle guards comes to Bruce’s rescue. He’s escorted back to the castle, and the alderman is arrested and brought before Kal.

Kal is brought up to speed by the guards who had been following Bruce. As expected, he’s furious, not from the corruption (at least not yet), but from the attempt at Bruce’s life.

“Are you hurt?” he asks Bruce. “Did he hurt you?”

Bruce is a little taken aback. “N-no, My Lord,” he answers.

“He’s a witch!” the alderman shouts. “He lies and his words influences people! He’s gotten to you, too, My Lord—”

“A witch? I’ll gladly remain under his enchantment, then. Take him to the dungeon, and remove him and the three aldermen from their posts. I will appoint new ones after I’ve returned from Daxam,”

Kal brings Bruce to his study and Bruce would really prefer to return to his tasks.

Bruce is handed a parcel. “What’s this?”

“You won’t find out if you won’t open it,”

Gingerly, Bruce undoes the twine keeping the wrapping paper together. He gasps when the paper falls. It’s the shawl he’s been looking at in the market. “I… I can’t accept this…”

“Nonsense,” Kal says. “It’s…it can never…” he can’t seem to form his words. He doesn’t know what to say. Should he say that he only got it to ease Bruce's imprisonment? Those will never be the right words. What if he said, the shawl reminded Kal of him? “Ah, fuck,”

“But thank you, My Lord. It’s beautiful. I shall cherish it,”

 _Like you_ , Kal wants to say, but he bites his cheek, and instead only nods.

“I must return to the kitchens now,”

Like that afternoon, Bruce bows and leaves, and again Kal is left in the room alone and confused, and without four aldermen. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fort Rozz is a historical military fort in Krypton. IIRC, castles _are_ forts, sort of? Because castles are made for defense, and palaces are not. 
> 
> anywho let's pretend i know my shit ahahaha /sweats 
> 
> first day back at work and i would really want to go back to bed now

He’s just finished with the trade agreements with Daxam, which went surprisingly fast. The corruption incidents with his aldermen he reported to the council of Daxam and promised them with recompense in the form of waiving the tariff for the next six moons, while the Duchy of Fort Rozz will pay their end of the tariff for the importation of wine and aged goods, which the council gladly took.

Daxam had been waiting for the Duchy of Fort Rozz to offer such a trade agreement with them, but was too afraid of its ruling warlord to initiate.

Currently he and his entourage are passing through the market on their way back to Fort Rozz. Kal finds himself wanting to buy everything in sight.

They stay at the market longer than the intended pass by because Kal won’t stop looking at the wares.

“How much is this?”

* * *

Kal asks for a hot bath the moment he arrives, around dusk, five days later. Tomorrow he plans on taking a respite and rest.

While drying himself, he peeks into the parcel containing the knickknacks and whatnot he’d gotten for Bruce. He’d never heard of wardens getting gifts for their prisoners, yet here he is with his second gift. If he doesn’t give it to Bruce, what use would he have for them? 

What _would_ Bruce do with a gold brooch?

* * *

Bruce finds himself praying a lot these days. back home, he’d only do it out of obligation, now he catches himself asking for safety, health, and the strength and healing for his brother and his kingdom, for their grief to be short, and for himself to live out his indentured servitude.

He now knows why the poor are always on their knees, praying. When one has no power, influence, will, or time, there is nothing else to do but to leave it up to the divine.

Today is a rest day. He has just finished washing his own clothes and cleaning his own rooms. He used to believe a rest day would grant servants permission to sleep in and lie in bed all day, like he got to do in his days of comfort, but it only meant that he should take care of himself rather than tasks.

He wonders how Thomas and Alfred are doing, but he pushes the thought away. Thinking about them will only make him more homesick than he already is, and the last thing he needs is to be distracted from his tasks. Praying for them must be enough. 

Mercy taught him how to gently wash the shawl so that the colors, a bright blue and gold threading, won’t bleed and cause the fabric to fade. He isn’t planning on wearing it outside of his rooms. They’re much too expensive—someone might accuse him of stealing it, and they don’t go with his clothes. He imagines which of his robes this would go well with.

Perhaps…perhaps His Lordship is not such a beast after all.

In the afternoon just before the sun sets, he gathers flowers from the forest, then visits the church on the grounds where the Ladyships are buried, and lays the flowers down before their headstones.

Lady Kara and Lady Karen buried beside their mother, Lady Alura, who’d been laid to rest years before, and then the Lord and Lady of House El, laid to rest years before that.

“My sisters. They’re actually my cousins,” says Kal, taking the space beside Bruce. “Aunt Alura and Madam Kent raised us together. They might as well have been,”

“I’m sorry for what we did to them,” says Bruce. “I wish I could have tried harder to stop it. I know these are only words and no amount of spilt blood or my apologies can bring them back,” Bruce hopes that his punishment and suffering is enough to ease Kal’s grief and help him through his time of mourning.

“What’s done is done,” replies the lord. “I too wish for many things, but my sisters, they are warriors as much as they were ladies, and in the afterlife, they would be glad to know they had a warrior’s death, defending their home and celebrated by those they left behind,”

For a moment, they stood together in silence.

“Thank you for thinking of them,”

 _I am always thinking of them_ , Bruce wants to say, but His Lordship is already walking back to the castle.

* * *

When Bruce returns to his room, there are packages on his bed. Feelings of suspicion make him lock his door, then rush to open the note on top of them.

“To Bruce, I hope you enjoy these. Kal.”

He grabs leather packet and fishes out the single item inside it. It’s a brooch.

What on earth will he do with a brooch? His clothes are much too plain to be pinned a brooch on. He puts the brooch back into its packet—it’s the thought that counts. He then reaches for the rectangular package, held together by twine. He pulls at the twine and the packaging falls, revealing books.

He immediately opens them. The pages are blank. They’re journals.

The other package he tears into. They’re inkwells and quills, his favorite from the best quill makers. 

He pops open an inkwell and dips in a quill and starts writing. He hasn’t written in moons. So many moons.

He writes the date and the year.

_I am writing this as a servant of Fort Rozz._

_Today, I am full of joy. It has been a while since I have held a book and a quill in my hands. Oh, how I have missed it! I have so much to write—everything I have endured, to all I have learned. Though I fear these journals may run out before I have written all I can. Maybe if I do better in service, His Lordship can provide me with more journals. If he thinks I have been given enough, maybe I can sell my jewelry and write all that transpires in a day. But I will only sell them for what is most important._

_I was Prince Bruce of Gotham, omega, brother to Thomas II. His Lordship’s historians are the ones to tell you of why I came to serve here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look i know this entire fic is like, badly planned and im like, only writing whatever comes to mind and word vomiting 90% of it and there’s a shit ton wrong with it and im not thinking it through AT ALL for even a second
> 
> but it blew up and
> 
> THANK YOU SO SO MUCH I LOVE ALL OF YOU XOXOXOX


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bruce's journal. so far. idk

_Entry #15_

_These journals aren’t to be kept private. I want someone to read them in the distant future when I have passed on. His Lordship as expressed that should I pass first, he shall return to Gotham and finish my brother, and so I shall take great care of myself, hoping that when I pass, I shall be of great age and live beyond my brother. I wish to be returned home after my service, to be laid to rest beside my brother, parents, and ancestors._

_I look forward to going home. I do not hope that it may be some time soon—Thomas has yet to lead Gotham into more years of hopeful progress. He has yet to take a mate and bring forth heirs. I hope to hear it from Fort Rozz. I hope to hear of Thomas’ marriage, of the lucky mate, the birth of many nephews and nieces whom I will love despite not having met them._

_His Lordship has not called me to the bedroom yet. He may not be as beastly as he appears, or talks, or moves, but I fear of the day he calls me to bed. I fear that in matters of the sheets he is beastly. I fear he may turn me away for my inexperience. But I also fear that if he waits any longer, I shall wilt and be unable to provide him with heirs he may legitimize. It is what I offered him. For this body to be used. So far it has not been used for anything other than domestic tasks._

_Maybe it is when I bring him his afternoon refreshments that he evaluates whatever it is the criteria he has in mind for a womb. After all, one doesn’t need a face to put on a cunt to fuck._

* * *

With the rate he’s writing, he could publish a novel. Bruce sets the inkwell and quill aside and lets the ink dry. He’ll run out of pages to write on if he continues.

He wants to write about everything. About all the people he works with despite not having spoken much about anything other than a few words about work; about the gardens he walks through at night when he can’t sleep; about the sneaking out to bathe; about the markets and the many wonderful things on sale.

Mostly, he writes of what he misses from home.

He sighs and reaches for the brooch he keeps in the drawer of his vanity.

He likes to daydream about using it, imagining his catalogue of clothes back home, pairing it laced bodices, sometimes flowing robes, deciding which of his bejeweled shoes would look best with it, and which clothes would look best with it and the shawl His Lordship gave him. He likes the emeralds decorating it best.

* * *

_Entry #27_

_I miss Thomas._

_I miss how he is overbearing about my suitors. I miss how he scares away alphas who attempt to ask for my hand._

_I miss his random gifts. I miss the nights when he asks the band and bard to come to the great hall and we can dance to music, just us. I miss our walks in the garden. I miss when we read to each other during tea times. I miss when he bothers me during my studies. I miss when I bother him when he is perusing the endless parchment on his desk. I miss making Gotham better by his side._

_I miss Alfred. Who stood Regent when Thomas was not yet of age to run Gotham. Who raised us and taught us all we know. Who always reminded Thomas and I, that we are the only ones we have. We must take care of each other._

_I hope that this service I am doing is a way of taking care of him. I know he has shielded me much from reality—that not everything outside the castle walls are flowers and stars. I am much more learned now. I have dirtied my hands, my feet, and my dresses. I now do what I used to command._

_I miss James and the light hearted soldiers who’ve died protecting us. I miss Selina and her company and shoulder I can lean on. I miss all the things I may never have again._

_Thomas always said, I am a blooming flower protected by the castle walls. In a book I have read written by a school rectoress, she said, “Sometimes a flower is just a flower, and the best thing it can do for us is to die.” I sometimes think I am not anymore in bloom, but already wilting. Wilting or not I must prevail. I have a life of service ahead of me. (1)_

_When I pass, I wish for them to return my remains to Gotham. I wish to be reunited with my family, to be buried next to my brother, my king._

_If they cannot grant me my wishes in death, then I hope the mighty Grand Duke Kal of House El may give me the honor of burning in a pyre so that the smoke may carry my soul to wherever the wind takes it. (2)_

* * *

“He does nothing but write in it,” Martha tells him one day, after submitting a bundle of parchment containing reports about the castle’s expenses in housekeeping. “He’ll run out of pages soon enough,”

Kal looks up at her from his desk. “I got him three journals. He’s finished all three?”

“You gave it to a learned prince,” she shrugs. “He arrived here caked in the blood of his people—I believe he’s got more than three journals worth of writing in that brain of his. And yes, he’s halfway through the first one. He writes more in the hours after work than a monk does in a day. It’s not distracting him from his duties—I’m only letting you know that His Highness might be on his way to writing several books to be revered by historians in the future,”

Kal hums thoughtfully. “Should I get him journals?”

Martha rolls her eyes. So hard she probably had a seizure. “On the assumption your head is as thick as your thighs, My Lord, your courting approach is severely lacking,”

The lord stares at her. “My _what_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Tissaia de Vries, The Rectoress of Aretuza, said this in the second episode of The Witcher.
> 
> (2) The term "grand duke" as a monarch reigning over an independent state was a later invention to denote either a particularly mighty duke or a monarchy playing an important political, military and/or economic role, but not large enough to be a Kingdom. I am basing this from the Duchy of Toussaint in Witcher 3, where the Duchess Anna Henrietta is the ruling monarch. The Duchy of Toussaint is a country on The Continent. Toussaint is a small autonomous duchy under the banner of the Empire of Nilfgaard, however, Nilfgaard and its Emperor, Emhyr var Emreis, does not impose imperial authority on the country despite being a vassal state. But for the sake of this story, Kal does not have a king, but is an independent state. 
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grand_duke  
> https://witcher.fandom.com/wiki/Toussaint  
> https://witcher.fandom.com/wiki/Anna_Henrietta  
> https://witcher.fandom.com/wiki/Emperor  
> https://witcher.fandom.com/wiki/Emhyr_var_Emreis


	10. Chapter 10

_Entry #36_

_I wish to go home_.

\---

“For fuck’s sake, Bruce,” sighs Copper, one of the wringers Bruce brings his washing to in the mid morning when they’re to hang the sheets to dry in time for the high noon sun. (1)

Bruce doesn’t know why she’s called Copper, only that nobody knows her real name. Her father was an apothecary and she learned much from him, but not enough that she can work as an apothecary herself. She is versed in some plants and how to use them in the home. She also is not fond of Bruce.

Bruce finds himself not particularly fond of her either.

“Didn’t I tell you to give it to me formed for wringing to make it easier to handle?” she frowns at him. “Being able to read and write obviously don’t mean you can listen!”

He doesn’t do what she tells him because it’s not his job to wring and dry the linens. It’s hers. Doing it for her means he’ll be doing a part of her job, lightening her load, and Bruce has enough on his hands as it is. He isn’t even paid to care for other people’s jobs. There is no path to higher positions for unpaid, indentured servants like him.

“Hey!” she yells at Bruce’s back. “I’m talking to you! Get back here!”

Bruce turns to her, wiping his wet hands on his apron to dry them. “I’m done for the laundry. I’m needed in the kitchens,”

“The hell you’re needed in the kitchens!”

He ignores her yelling and makes his way to the kitchens, where he’s handed his basket and sent on his way to the market.

* * *

_Entry #41_

_Those who protect His Lordship and enforce the law are called the Sagitari, a different faction than the army who also stand guard of the castle._

_I’ve met the Primus, the leader of the Sagitari, Dev-Em, an alpha, one who personally delivered me to Madam Martha made sure I was given decent room and clothes. I overheard him speaking with her. He is much like His Lordship, few of words, silent, dark, broad, hardily built with piercing green eyes. He seems like the type of person who follows the one seated on the throne and not the throne itself. (2)_

_His fellow Commander, Lyta-Zod, another alpha, is quite a force herself. I’ve not properly met her, only seen her on the training grounds. She too seems to follow principle and not the throne. She is strict but not cruel. I’ve seen many officers abuse their power over lower ranked soldiers. Her rise to her rank is unmatched in its infamy, I’ve heard, and was pushed hard by her mother who had been Primus. I’ve yet to learn of her infamous achievements of rising to commander. (3)_

_Gossiping Beta Sagitari guarding the castle have whispered here and there about her and Dev-Em fooling around. They don’t seem the type to use others for pleasures of the flesh, but who am I to speak, or write?, when I’ve not had the chance to experience physical intimacy myself._

_Maybe in the future when His Lordship asks a child from me._

* * *

A few days later, when Bruce returns to his room after his tasks are done, he immediately knows someone’s been in it. His miserable pillow is off center on his straw bed. He kneels by the bedframe and discovers his journals, which are hidden under it, aren’t in the right order.

On his vanity, the inkwell he’s been using has been shoved to the side and the chair isn’t properly put back in its place. He checks the drawers.

The leather bag for the brooch and his shawl are missing.

Bruce is crestfallen. What would he tell His Lordship when he asks?

‘Are you still enjoying your brooch and shawl, Bruce?’

Would he find the courage to say, ‘Someone has stolen them,’

Surely, they’re not worth that much to be bothered by. He used to give away jewelry and clothes as gifts. Maybe now he holds them dear because it is the only form of luxury and leisure he has left.

* * *

_Entry #46_

_I may have angered many from my silence. I choose not to socialize for fear of being found out. Only Madam Martha knows._

_But Copper is a different kind of vengeful. She has tried to sabotage my tasks many times. I will not let her. Her thievery becomes unmistakable every day she taunts me about the clothes I wear, even though my kirtle is as dirty as hers. I will not confront her about it. Maybe someone will recognize her wearing the shawl and the brooch. She can have it._

* * *

Guests from nearby principality arrived a few days ago. Before they arrived, Martha pulled Bruce aside into her office.

“We don’t know if they’ll recognize you,” she said. “So you’ll not be wandering the halls until the visit is over and they’ve gone. Your tasks in the morning gathering linens will be given to someone else, and you’ll work in the kitchens,”

And that is how Bruce came to be washing dishes for in the garrison kitchens the past few days. He’s on his way back to the after gathering the plates the soldiers are done with when someone approaches him.

The captain of the army, not the Sagitari. An alpha.

“May I help you?” the commander asks.

“There is no need, I can manage,” Bruce says, hoping he won’t have to be alone with him.

The commander takes half the number of plates anyway. “My name John Henry Irons,” (4)

Soldiers had not paid him any mind until now. “I am Bruce,”

“I know,” John says, accompanying Bruce to his washing spot, where a large wooden basin filled with water waited.

Bruce stops to eye him.

“I’m not—watching you or anything of the sort, I asked Mercy,”

“I see,” Bruce says, depositing the plates beside the basin on the grass, and John does the same.

John offers his hand and out of habit, Bruce lets him have his to kiss. The captain gives him a smile. “I’ll leave you to your tasks, Bruce,”

The soldier leaves and Bruce sees Mercy grinning at him.

He starts washing the dishes.

* * *

_Entry #55_

_It was a mistake to let him kiss my hand. I had forgotten and gave him mine out of habit. I hope nobody saw us. I hope I am reinstated to my usual duties soon. I must turn him down sooner._

* * *

Kal doesn’t like mingling. He also doesn’t like visitors. But what he hates most are fathers and mothers parading around their children in the hopes that someone powerful might suddenly think of marrying.

“Your father seems insistent,” Kal asks Lady Lane.

“He can be,” she answers, staying close to the duke as they walk the gardens one afternoon. “I hope you don’t pay him any mind. He’s…rough on the edges,”

“I know how he feels. I am a soldier more than I am a duke. The crown isn’t something I planned on taking for long. I had hoped my sisters would give me a nephew or niece to pass it on to,”

“I’m sorry for your loss. I had hoped my father would let you grieve and recover first before we came to visit. But he was adamant,”

Kal sighs. “Madam Martha, the one who raised me, always tells me I have no manners. Soldiers are rough of nature. We know nothing but our orders, the sharpness of our swords, and the bluntness of our shields. I can’t afford to turn away help and allies when I need it most,”

“Fret not My Lord,” she says, “I can assure you that you have enough manners. It is my father who has none,”

Kal hums. “Would you like to join me for supper tonight, My Lady?”

* * *

_Entry #56_

_I’ve not roamed the halls in a while and someone else is bringing His Lordship his tea and cake in the afternoon. There are guests in the castle and Madam Martha fears they might recognize me._

_They from Pittsdale, a small territory south of Fort Rozz ruled by a warlord much like His Lordship, by the name of Samuel Lane. He is their general and lord. Servants who are tending to General Lane are gossiping when on break. He is here to present his daughter to the Grand Duke, hoping he’ll find her a suitable match and strengthen each other’s forces._

_Her name is Lois and she has dark hair and has eyes the color of lilacs, the most regal of colors. I’ve not seen her yet. Maybe when she roams the grounds. She must be beautiful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Copperhead is female in Arkham Origins. Her name is unknown, so we’re nicknaming her Copper instead.
> 
> (2) Dev-Em is a Commander of the Sagitari in the series Krypton. He lived alongside Kal’s grandfather, Seg-El in the series. For the purposes of me not knowing how to properly name Kryptonians, Dev-Em now lives alongside Kal-El.
> 
> (3) Lyta-Zod is a Commander of the Sagitari in the series Krypton. She was in love with Seg-El, Kal’s grandfather, who was intended to marry Nyssa-Vex. Lyta was intended to marry/bind with Dev-Em, a fellow commander. However, she didn’t want him and I believe goes with Seg-El, with whom she had a sod they named Dru-Zod. Dru-Zod later becomes General Zod, who becomes Kal’s nemesis (I mean shit, General Zod is Clark’s uncle??). Lyta became commander after challenging her commander, she defeated him in a duel to the death. For the purposes of me not knowing how to properly name Kryptonians, Lyta-Zod now lives alongside Kal-El, and will bind with Dev-Em. Man, how confusing is that??
> 
> (4) Steel.
> 
> aaahhh too many notes 😫


	11. Chapter 11

There is a ruckus among the soldiers. Whistling and cheering and general roughhousing. 

Mercy peeks from the kitchen doors to see what it’s all about and sees Captain Irons surprisingly neat with a handful of flowers, cheered on by his company, headed for the well where Bruce is at finishing the last of his laundries, the rags used in the kitchens.

“What’s gotten into them?” Mercy asks no one in particular.

Martha appears at her side and watches as Captain Irons gives Bruce the flowers, which Bruce accepts. “It’s not every day you get a scullery maid so fair,”

* * *

“Where was Bruce assigned?” Kal asks when Martha enters the room to submit her weekly report. He is at his window, watching Dev-Em welcome new recruits to the Sagitari on the training grounds.

“The garrison kitchen,” she answers, setting the bundle of parchment down on the desk.

Kal hums. “And have the Lanes departed?”

“Yes. They expressed disappointment in your absence this morning but will keep in touch. I told them you felt unwell. Bruce is also back to his usual duties,”

“That’s good,” Kal is secretly thrilled to have Bruce back to bringing his tea. But he knows it’ll be for a while yet, he is unwell because of his impending rut.

“Though,” Martha starts to say. “While you were gallivanting around and having suppers with Her Ladyship, Army Captain Irons has shown Bruce some interest,”

“What?” he turns to her.

“Seems like his assignment to the garrison kitchens turned some heads and caught the attention of the captain. I’ve never seen soldiers watch a scullery maid wash dishes with such interest!” Martha laughs at how Kal’s eyes furrow. “Well, we don’t get pretty maids that often. I’m surprised Captain Irons had the marbles to give him flowers!”

That seems to give Kal a sense of urgency. Flowers? “Bruce has been seeing him?”

Martha notices how the lord’s hands are balled into fists. “Captain Irons finds Bruce to be elusive and you know Bruce likes to make himself scarce. The Captain’s duties don’t ease out until noon, and by then, Bruce is already in the kitchens or out in the market. He did catch our Bruce washing kitchen rags yesterday morning,”

“I see,” he pauses giving his next words some thought. “Remove Bruce from his duties. Put him in a bookkeeping position. I’m sure he’s gifted with his numbers as he is with letters,”

* * *

_Entry #65_

_Captain Irons gave me flowers. They were lovely. A little roughly handled, as expected from a soldier who knows not to handle such delicate things. Never have I appreciated the gift of flowers so much before. I said my thanks but told Captain Irons his advances will not be welcome anymore. I’ve declined him and I hope this rejection he does not take to heart._

_Madam Martha also told me I’ve been reassigned. To bookkeeping. I wonder why? It’s been moons and His Lordship has only now shown interest in taking advantage of my literacy._

* * *

Bruce accidentally knocks over his small mirror and it breaks when it hits the basin he uses for washing, the shards glistening back at him.

* * *

Kal visits the treasury and its offices a few days after his laborious rut.

“How is he?” he asks the head of his finance chapter, Peter Ross, a beta.

“He’s has the makings of a fine bookkeeper, My Lord,” Peter answers. “As a test, I gave him a ledger full of mistakes and inconsistencies, and he pointed them out with no effort spared!”

Kal watches as Bruce pours over the thick books he’s comparing. “And what is he doing now?”

“I asked him to create a double-entry journal of some ledgers from the previous year to check for any miscalculations we may have missed. This specific ledger was done by a removed apprentice who, though hardworking and earnest, truly was not made for bookkeeping,”

He realizes he likes the way Bruce is reading line after line of entry. “Let him go midafternoon. I want him to bring me my tea,”

“Yes, My Lord,” Peter bows as the lord leaves the office.

* * *

When Bruce enters Kal’s study to with his tea, he finds Copper there, and a private of the Sagitari. He sees his shawl and brooch on Kal’s desk and pays it no mind, bows, and sets the tea down on the dining table.

“Bruce. Stay,” Kal says. “Come forward and stand next to Copper,” he eyes Bruce’s movements before turning back to Copper. “And where did you find this again?” he rose from his seat and emerges from behind his desk.

“In his room, My Lord,” Copper says eagerly. “Stole it from some stall in the market I’m sure!”

“Are you?” Kal urges, taking the shawl. “Did you read his journals? Answer honestly, girl,”

“I did,” she says, “But I don't know all the words. Not much made sense. I only know how to read words of plants,”

“I see,” Kal nods. “You mean to tell me, that you went into Bruce’s room, read his journals, and took these?” he approaches Bruce, wraps the shawl around his shoulders, and fastens it with the brooch. “I thought the colors bring out your eyes,”

Bruce is so glad to have them back. “Thank you, My Lord,”

Copper swallows. “Y-yes,”

“So you admit to stealing Bruce’s belongings?”

“Pardon?”

Kal turns to her. “ _I_ gave Bruce the shawl and the brooch, you thieving wench,” he doesn’t know what gets into him, but he hits the girl with the back of his hand, sending her falling to the stone floor.

“My Lord!” Bruce gasps, then grabs his arm to pull him away from the crying girl.

“I’ve just about had enough of you,” Kal hisses. “I know you’ve had other maids removed before for pettier things. Every single one of you know I’ve not an ounce of grace in me and I will strike anyone who dares come up against me, even you,”

“That’s enough, that’s enough,” Bruce whispers, holding onto his arm tightly, and smoothing his hands over the tense bicep in attempt to calm him.

“Take her and tell Dev-Em to punish her to the fullest extent the law allows,” he tells the Sagitari, who picks her up from the floor by her arm and escorts her out.

As soon as the door closes, Bruce lets go. “Will you do that to me?”

“Do what?” the words come out gruff and Kal attributes it to the anger that has not yet dissipated.

“When you are angry with me, when I cannot give you what you want, will you strike me, too?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please dont kill me


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know none of you will probably care for this chapter... but i kinda word vomited the thing after Bruce's letter so... i'm sorry. i didn't know what to do with it and it seemed like a waste to delete it.

Bruce counts the souls of those who fought for his brother and His Lordship. There is blood on his hands, and he’ll never be able to wash it off.

* * *

_Dearest Thomas,_

_I’m not sorry for what I have done. Blood has been spilled on our soil, something we vowed never to do, yet here we are. You gave me a voice, yet the worm that is fear burrowed itself into the deepest recesses of your mind that I cannot reach you._

_I am only one more soul to sacrifice for the peace. Is that not what we as rulers supposed to do? Keep the peace serve our people like they serve us, into great age. Instead there is blood on our hands, even on the Duke of Fort Rozz’s, of his and our own people. These are our sins and there is nothing to do but atone._

_As a last promise, please do not come after me. More blood will be shed. Instead, please pray and remember me, for there’ll not be a day that I’ll not be thinking of you, and Alfred, and all the comfort and love you’ve showered me with._

_You will mourn and as will I, but kingdom shall come first and we shall strive to keep its peace, and it’s no difficult decision to give up my own peace for it. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few._

_Heal your mind, my dear. Feel the warmth of the sun, breathe the cool breeze, see the green foliage and blue skies, and hear the birds singing. But also, enjoy the sound of the rain, feel the thunder rumble the ground, and watch lightning pierce the sky. Feel, see, and touch them, and remember me. See Alfred and Lucius and listen to their counsel. Look at and hear your people and help them back on their feet. You and our people shall rise again._

_I shall watch all the sunrises, and adore all the stars in the night, as many as the gods gift me, and remember that we are under the same blue, jewel studded sky._

_All my love,  
Bruce_

* * *

The months have not been kind, but they have been kinder to him than those who’ve lost more than he has, even though he’s lost everything.

It’s difficult to keep the promise Bruce made for him and he copes by reading Bruce’s letters and journals, the orders and laws he’s penned, and visiting the places in the castle and the grounds he liked most: the library and the gardens.

Thomas doesn’t count himself special. This is his doing. Rations are in effect and what the servants below eat, he eats.

Only when he’d healed enough and gotten enough strength to keep awake for at least a few hours, had he asked what was done with Luthor’s body. He was pleased to know that Bruce had dealt with it and it is this one death he does not mind staining his hands with red. He only hoped Bruce hadn’t seen what he’d done to the treasonous priest.

Most of his injuries have halfway healed now and today he’s to meet families who have lost their loved ones to the war. He dresses modestly, a plain cotton doublet and shirt, a pair of trousers and his favorite pair of comfortable shoes.

He decides to meet them in a cathedral near the castle. They’ll feel safer there, compared to the floors of the throne room still stained with the blood of their beloved.

When he emerges from the room behind the altar, his people immediately get up on their feet and bow, and quickly he says, “Rise, please,”

The cathedral is packed. Even in the spaces in between the columns of pews there are people, to the windows, up to the closed doors guarded by the soldiers.

Thomas takes a moment to look at the faces of the families who’ve lost their beloved, people who’ve lost mates, children who’ve lost parents.

“Nothing I can say or do can assuage your pain,” he starts. “And nothing I can do can assuage mine, not in the loss of the war I waged, but the loss of my brother, your prince,” his voice is shaky at the mention of Bruce. “I do intend to atone for my sins against you, as my brother is atoning for mine.

“Bruce loved children. He loved teaching. In his honor I wish to open the doors of the many schools in Gotham to the family of those lost in the war, to learn, and climb the ranks of their chosen field. They can choose what to be and what to learn. Healers, apothecaries, teachers, bookkeepers, smiths, cooks, artists, scribes—anything you wish—and become apprentices to the kingdom’s best. You can choose to offer your services to the crown and the people of Gotham when you complete your apprenticeship or leave and make a life somewhere else. Or, should you wish to leave Gotham, the crown will offer enough monetary assistance for your move, and I ask nothing in return,”

There are gasps and murmuring and Thomas wouldn’t blame them if they decide to leave instead.

“I thank you for answering your summons. You had the choice not to attend, yet here you are. For your troubles, the castle will provide all with a hot meal, and additional food for the next few days. Please accept them,”

“Sire!” a small child comes running toward him, coming from a few pews back.

A soldier takes a few steps to prevent the child from ramming into the king, but Thomas holds up a hand and the soldier stays in his spot, and Thomas slowly descends from the steps of the altar, then lowers on one knee to meet him.

“Nyssa!” a male omega rushes after her. Thomas assumes he’s her mother.

“Prince Bruce taught me letters and numbers in the gardens! I want to teach like him!” says the little alpha.

Thomas does the top button of her shirt. “That’s very noble of you, Nyssa,” he says. “Would you like to learn more of your letters and numbers?”

She nods.

“Then you’re welcome to come back to school and learn with new classmates,”

“Is…will Prince Bruce be our teacher?” she asks with so much hope Thomas doesn’t know how to tell her the truth.

But he does. “I’m afraid not, my child, but will you still want to learn your letters for him?”

“Yes! So I can teach everybody their letters too!” 

“I want to learn letters too!” come a few voices from several people, both children and adults, scattered all around the cathedral. “And smithing! I want to be a cook!”

There’s commotion and soldiers ask Thomas to step back from the chattering, clamoring public, who’re one by one leaving the cathedral to collect their hot meal from the tent of cooks outside preparing food.

He’s glad about the positive reception. But he knows the decision will be their parents’. He knows most of them will choose to ask for the money and leave their pains behind and restart fresh somewhere else.

* * *

Bruce holds the discolored dresses in his hands. He liked this robe. Now it’s ugly, the blood has dried further, crusting and powdery all over the cloth, rotten. And it reminds Bruce of the Luthor’s blood staining the floor of his brother’s study, the lake of blood that was shed in the castle’s throne room, the blood of his brother that had dried on his hands, and the blood on his hands that he can’t wash away. There are more souls to count.

He puts the clothes back in the chest together with the jewelry, locks it and shoves it under the vanity. The bandages and the salve he put away in the drawers, and he gathers his dresses and leaves his room, headed for the treasury office. He has much to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> anyhoo i thought i'd be able to write at least a few hundred words every few days but work has been terribly time consuming and absolutely exhausting dealing with people. i think it's because everybody's wanting to get a move on since we've all come back from the holiday and it's the start of the year and all that. i'm tech support so everybody's been calling left and right and honestly i'd really just want a good long nap. 
> 
> also i think one of my hard drives on my home pc is failing, and i couldn't update this fic cos all my fics (all of them, including a ton more wips that i'm obviously not working on cos im a lazy little shit) are stored in that failing drive that my pc couldn't read. i got to save my fics since i have them backed up online, but i'd hate to lose all my files on there. i'll have to get a new drive, i guess.


	13. Chapter 13

“What in the Rao’s name has gotten into you?” Martha demands when she enters the study without so much as a knock and a bow. She raised this boy and she decides when he deserves a bow.

Kal grumbles, not moving from his chair by the fire.

“Oh, and I only get your cantankerous gnarling? Am I not talking to a boy with a mouth and brain?” she presses.

“I’m not a boy,”

“Yes, you are,” Martha retorts as stubbornly. “A boy given a throne and a sword and the authority that comes with it. Have I thought you nothing, you foolish child?”

“I was angry!” he tries to reason.

“My maids and your unruly soldiers anger me at all hours of the day—you don’t see me hitting them!”

“Uggh!” Kal kicks at the table in frustration, toppling over the untouched tea and cake Bruce had brought in earleir. “I didn’t know what came over me,”

Martha sighs, joins Kal in the living area, and pulls him into a well needed hug. “Come here,”

Kal towers over her, but receiving a hug while seated makes him feel like a child all over again. He wishes to go back to the days when worst that can happen was a scraped knee.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles into her dress. She is the mother he knows.

“I know you are, my dear,” she lifts his chin up. “But, as difficult as it is, you must keep your voice down and your hands to yourself, especially when it comes to your household. We are not soldiers,”

He nods and attempts to let go of her, but she pulls him back in for a moment and presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You are going to clean up that tea and cake,” she says, pinching his beard roughed cheek lovingly, chiding him just like she did when he was young.

“Yes, Ma,” the lord says obediently. He picks up his mess, and Martha leaves the room without a bow.

* * *

Bruce enters his study in the afternoon the next day, Kal can’t bring himself to look at him. Bruce had left when it was clear to him that Kal wouldn’t be giving him an answer.

“Bruce,” he forces himself to say when Bruce moves to leave.

“Yes, My Lord?” he straightens himself.

Kal doesn’t answer immediately, so Bruce prods.

“Will there be anything else, Your Lordship?”

“Uh…I apologize that you had to see…yesterday’s fuss,” he doesn’t even know why he has a need to apologize to him.

But Bruce is thoroughly impressed. He didn’t think Kal is capable of apologies. Then again, he thinks it’s because he’s not completely a common person either. “I think you should apologize to Copper instead, My Lord,”

Kal scoffs. “I’m not apologizing to her. She deserved it,” but then he retracts his dreadful attitude. “I don’t know what came over me,” he tries to explain, but can’t understand why he wants or must. “I couldn’t help my anger,” he only knows that he wouldn’t have acted the way he did if it hadn’t been Bruce who’d been hurt.

“Your rut came over you,” Bruce says, “I understand. You smelled ripe from a rut. It’s understandable that your emotions would get the better of you. It is not a secret that an alpha before or after a rut can be somewhat…erratic,”

The lord appreciates Bruce’s thoughtfulness in deciding against calling him violent, but it doesn’t make a difference or him less of it.

“Here,” Bruce pours the steeping tea from the pot into the cup, then sets it down in front of him. “Maybe this will help ease your aches,”

Kal wants to ask him how he has so much patience. Instead, “Thank you,”

“My pleasure,” Bruce replies, bows, and leaves.

* * *

When Bruce returns to his rooms, there’s a parcel on his bed. He quickly locks the door and tears through the wrapping. They’re new quills and a bottle of ink. From His Lordship.

He immediately gets to writing.

_Entry #70_

_There is something I would like to tell His Lordship; however, I am not in a position in the treasury to ask questions or make suggestions._

_I have studied and reviewed the finances of the castle and its expenses for the rehabilitation of the infantry, and it seems safe enough to reroute the coin into other areas that need it more. I hope that Master Ross might notice the numbers and advise His Lordship on the next steps to take._

_It is during my time in the treasury of Gotham that I saw some discrepancies in the reporting and the actual expenses. I’ll not go into detail, but I redid the numbers myself and asked Thomas to help improve the education in the kingdom. He’d originally wanted to allocate resources for the Gotham Academy for Arts and Sciences, a higher education institution in the city. I’d reasoned that the academy receives enough matriculation from well-made families, and I’d rather him help the outskirts of the kingdom by building schools for agriculture and craftsmanship. With much begging, slight tantrums, and of course, pouting, I’d gotten what I wanted._

_There will be no begging, tantrums, and pouting here in Fort Rozz, but maybe, if the numbers speak for themselves, schooling can be much easier for the children of the duchy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was really sad about something someone said and idk how to process it but thank you for all the kind words all of you are heaven sent. much love and endless kisses to all of you.


	14. Chapter 14

_Entry # 83_

_Rao’s Festival gathers all the nobility and well-made families of the duchy to the castle. The streets are lit, decorations are up, and of course, children playing in the streets, food to go around, and the town drunks already inebriated at noon._

_Much like Moon Celebrations in Gotham._

_The festival goes on for days, but the only thing the servants of the castle are bustling about is the dance that will be held a few days from now._

_I do miss the dancing and the mingling. I hope Thomas doesn’t lose his love for dancing. He only ever danced with me._

_The guests have started arriving. Again, my tasks have been changed. I no longer serve tea and cake to His Lordship in the afternoon, for fear of nobility wandering around and recognizing me. I am now confined to either the treasury or my room._

_Since most of the servants will have their hands full with the night of the dance, I shall take the opportunity to sneak out and visit the pond for a bath. I asked Martha for some soap. And bless her, she gave me one that smells of roses and some rose oil for the hair. I might apply a few drops to the face as well to keep it soft. My skin has become dry and my hands are rough, though not as rough as when I held the post of laundry and scullery maid._

_The scents remind me of my own chambers, and I miss Selina. She has gifted hands and never let a hair stray from my braids. I hope Thomas is treating her well, that she wasn’t removed from her post. I am the reason her post exists._

_I wonder what His Lordship will wear. It’ll certainly be a change from his tunic. A doublet the color of the night sky might look lovely on him._

* * *

As soon as he’s done with his ledgers and someone’s served tea and cake to His Lordship and his guests, Bruce already has his soap in his basket, together with fresh clothes, on the way to his favorite pond, free to take a few hours to himself. Most are already drunk off their feet, so he’s confident nobody will sneak up on him even though it’s midafternoon.

He undresses and decides to be quick but thorough about it before someone in the castle looks for him. Though he still intends to his time and scrubs what needs to be scrubbed until he feels content.

The Moon Celebrations in Gotham were held a few weeks ago. He celebrated it with a prayer, a lit candle, and a few quiet moments, then went to bed. Back in Gotham he’d have been awake partying until dawn when he had to gather his brother and put him to bed after a night of drinking with the gentry.

The water isn’t as cold as it would be if he had dipped in at night because of the warm sun. When he’s content, he gets out of the water, dries himself, dresses, and squeezes out as much water from his hair as he can. He stays under the shade of a tree for a while, eating an apple he’d nicked from the kitchen, waiting for his hair to dry.

The sun is now about to set. He wants to watch it disappear and wait for the stars to start to sparkle and light the night sky. He doesn’t get to.

“There you are!”

Bruce looks up and to find a very haggard looking Mercy.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere! Gather your things. He’s looking for you!”

“What?” he has the gall to ask as he follows her back to the castle. “Why? I’m not to go near him,”

“Do I look like I know what goes on in that head of his?” she hisses. “Hurry up to his chambers!”

His _chambers_? Bruce has never been called to the chambers.

He stands there stunned and Mercy says not another word and goes her separate way back to her tasks when they arrive at the castle. With some urgency, Bruce dashes to his room and drops off his basket of clothes and soap, then heads right up to His Lordship’s chambers.

No one answers when he knocks. The guard lets him right in, only to find nobody in the room, but the bed messy and clothes are laid there to let the duke pick an ensemble for tonight. Where was the Kal’s personal servant?

Bruce notes that he especially likes the dark blue doublet with the silver threading and hems. Goes well with His Lordship’s hair.

“Bruce, is that you?” comes a voice from behind the wide-open doors of the the adjoined room.

“Yes, My Lord,” he answers chasing the source of the voice, hurrying to present himself.

He doesn’t expect the next room to be a bath. And for His Lordship to be… undressed.

Bruce startles himself with the half-shriek, half-gasp he lets out.

Kal, however, isn’t bothered by the intrusion. Bruce, thinking he’d invaded his lord’s privacy, turns around.

“I’m sorry,” the servant prince feels his face and ears heat up from embarrassment. And because His Lordship is...exposed.

Bruce has never seen another person, let alone an alpha, naked before. 

Kal hums. “Are you repulsed by the scars that you turn your back to me so quickly?”

“No, My Lord,” Bruce answers too quickly. “You are in a private room and I shall leave you to your pensive soak,”

He’d never think of a warrior’s scarred body repulsive. They are marks of victory and sometimes failure and loss. They represent one’s experience in battle and their will to live and heal despite so close to facing their mortality. They represent the hardships a warrior like His Lordship has gone through to ensure the safety of the land they rule.

“I am indeed pensive and thought I might need your help,”

Bruce still doesn’t turn around. “May I ask with what, My Lord?”

“I can’t seem to decide what I should wear,” he says. “I believe you too know that a crown must maintain an artifice of grace, elegance, and refined taste, none of which I possess. I trust your knowledge in these arts. Will you please dress me tonight?”

A beat passes before Bruce replies. “Of course, My Lord,” he leaves the room and shuts the doors behind him.

Of course, he picks the one he likes best.

He gathers the rather gaudy looking ones to set aside, leaves the dark blue doublet and its accoutrements on the bed, and prepares the tools needed to style the hair, not that His Lordship would ever put his hair in anything other than that half ponytail.

* * *

Bruce lets Kal dress himself and turns his back to him and waits with much patience. His Lordship, it seems, is moving at a glacial pace to avoid a bit longer his attendance of the festivities. He never did hide his disdain for his obligation to appear in gatherings orchestrated for polite society. Not that any of the members of this gentry are ever polite behind closed doors.

A cough tells Bruce that Kal has finished dressing. He turns around and leads the duke to the vanity, where he’s seated and Bruce takes the comb and runs it through the light-colored hair.

“You might need a trim soon,” Bruce says, gently gathering and tying the locks into the preferred style, then combs the non-existent knots away a few more times for good measure.

“Are you experienced in hairdressing?” Kal asks.

“I’m afraid not, My Lord,” Bruce sets the comb now. “My own hair wouldn’t be at this length if I were,” he shrugs.

Bruce takes a few moments to admire his work. His Lordship looks impeccably handsome.

“Thank you, Bruce,” Kal moves to stand.

“I hope you enjoy the night, My Lord,”

“I have to be drunk off my ass to even remotely find enjoyment in a vapid gathering such as this,” he pointlessly adjusts the vest. “It is simply not in my interests, and if not for obligation I would rather be asleep,”

“Well then,” Bruce remedies, “I hope you get drunk enough to have some fun,”

Kal stands there in awkward silence, seemingly having an internal debate with himself. He gathers a little more courage, takes Bruce’s hand, presses a kiss to the knuckles, before leaving the room without a word.

Bruce, in shock and unable to process what just happened, can only stare at Kal’s broad back as he departs for the banquet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello everybody i hope you enjoyed the gifs. i really wanted to use the nekkid henry parts and i tried 😅
> 
> anyway i'm okay and i'm trying not to let things get the best of me. it's hard and it's easier to drown in the spiral that is doubt but hey we have to trudge on through every day because there's nothing else to do and we have to. 
> 
> also will you look at that we actually inched a little bit forward and toward the nasty


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you MistyDawn for the ideas. Xoxo

_Entry #84_

_The great hall has high ceilings, magnificent arched doorways, and large candles that light up the whole room. It reminds me of my own home, Wayne Castle._

_Wayne Castle was a small property, privately owned by one Charles Arwin, 1 st Duke of Wayne, many, many years ago. It had been a small thing, but had been renovated and embellished had grown upon the acquisition of our great-great-great grandfather, Albert Anthony, and has since been the residence of the monarch. (1) (2) (3)_

_It had a great hall such as His Lordship’s._

_With some begging and promises to hand over a slice of cake the next morning, the guard let me in to the passageway that leads to the corridor that overlooks the hall, where archers stand at the ready to protect His Lordship and his guests._

_I had only stayed for a little while, peeking from behind the stone railing, watching the dance. Thomas too would hold such wonderful banquets. We’d dance all night and laugh with friends._

_Lady Lane had been wearing purple. I know purple is a difficult color to achieve, and even I decline offers of a full gown or robe of it, knowing that the coin to be put into it will be better used as wages for the servants or funding for education. Still, Lady Lane looks lovely in it and I bet she enjoyed the lengthy dance His Lordship regaled her with._

_Oh, wouldn’t it be so lovely to wear such fine clothes and shoes again? I’ve no use for them now, but I am thankful for the clothes on my back and the shoes on my feet. I even have soap and Madam Martha has offered me the luxury of a small vial of rose oil for the hair and face. I use the littlest amount to let it last._

_I thanked the guard for his generosity. I believe he is excited to have cake._

* * *

It has been a while since Rao’s Festival. Today marks his first year serving His Lordship the Grand Duke of Fort Rozz.

“Bruce, are you alright?”

Bruce looks up from his ledgers to find Master Ross expressing deep concern. “Yes,”

“I believe it’s best for you to retire for the day,” he says, closing the heavy leather-bound book Bruce is working on. “Go take a walk, ask the kitchens for a bite to eat, or have a nap,”

“You won’t need any more assistance?” he asks, only to make sure.

“I might retire myself,” answers Ross, then looks out the window, “It’s a beautiful day outside. It’s a shame to waste it,”

Bruce nods, bows slightly, then leaves the room.

Ross sighs when the door clicks shut. It’s becoming more and more often that he finds Bruce in a daze, looking blankly across the room or out the window, the ledger half-forgotten and quill barely balanced in a loose hand.

* * *

Some days, Bruce wants to sink into his bed and hopes to be forgotten. On others, he finishes his tasks with such efficiency Master Ross doesn’t know where he’ll get more things for him to do. And then on days like this, Bruce wants to put the blame on someone.

But he can’t for the life of him put it on Thomas, even though it’s his hand that held the sword. Words are the true weapon. It is words that put the deeply buried fear and paranoia in his brother’s mind.

A year ago today, he arrived at Fort Rozz wearing the robes soaked in his people’s blood. Every once in a while, he takes it out of the box to remind himself of why he serves His Lordship.

He runs his fingers over the sleeve stained with his Thomas’ blood when he helped carry him to the healers. When he closes his eyes, he hears the struggled, hissing breaths of his severely wounded brother. It is a mantra he repeats to himself. _You must persevere._

With the sleeve of his tunic he wipes the tears away, shuts the chest and shoves it back under the bed.

He sits at the vanity and looks into the mirror shard he keeps in the drawers, next to the brooch His Lordship had given him, and again counts the souls of those whose blood was shed.

* * *

_Entry #127_

_Master Ross had let me retire early today. A trip to the garden was most refreshing. The breeze is cool and it is a relief to clear the mind every once in a while. I feel like the warmth of the sun and the foliage and the smell of the grass lifted a heft off my shoulders. Yet when I return to the castle, to the treasury, to my room, it is placed back as if had never been lifted in the first place._

_It has been a year. Many courses have passed and His Lordship has yet to ask a child of me. Perhaps I will not be used. Perhaps it is not in the traditions of this duchy to allow its duke to bring forth an illegitimate child._

_Despite the few gestures His Lordship has shown me, any crown would prefer a mate with respectable blood. There is already gossip about how His Lordship should produce an heir. He is well into the age of marriage. His court has a predilection for General Lane’s daughter. She might make a fine duchess to rule with His Lordship someday._

* * *

Bruce is grateful for the respect he receives from the lord every day. He is not maltreated or abused, and he knows that His Lordship does not have the heart to do so to any one who serves him, or any one of his subjects willingly. But he can’t help but wonder if the rut induced rage that had lashed out and hit Cooper like a whip, is something His Lordship keeps under tremendous and tight control.

He is a prisoner, yet is not caged.

“Is there something you’d like to discuss, Bruce?”

Setting the tray of tea and cake down, the question somewhat confuses him. It takes a while for it to register. Master Ross must have said something. “No, My Lord,” he answers, then bows.

“Then why does Master Ross express such concern over you?” Kal gathers the papers together, then sets them aside to work on a fresh batch.

“I…haven’t been sleeping well,” it’s not a lie, but it’s also not the whole truth. “My dreams are anything but,”

Kal hums. “I too have troublesome nights. Ask Martha for some chamomile and lavender tea. It can help,”

Bruce wanted a wordless interaction with him today. If he wants a discussion, he’ll get it. “You can put a sack over my head if my face displeases you so greatly,” 

“I beg your pardon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what im doing i just word vomited not really sure where i wanna go from here. 
> 
> sorry for the long wait. it's been terribly busy and i'd like to sleep for a week, maybe two. ya girl's got a day job and a side hustle for extra and whew
> 
> anyhoo i hope you liked that i and i hope it's not too much of a step backward. yikes.
> 
> other notes: 
> 
> (1) Charles Arwin Wayne was Bruce’s ancestor. https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Charles_Wayne_(New_Earth)  
> (2) Alan Wayne was Bruce’s great-great-grandfather. https://dc.fandom.com/wiki/Alan_Wayne_(Prime_Earth)  
> (3) Stole this little tidbit from Buckingham Palace, which had originally been built as a private house for The Duke of Buckingham, before being acquired by King George III to be made as a private residence for his wife, Queen Charlotte. It became the London residence and administrative headquarters of the British monarchy when Queen Victoria acceded to the throne.


	16. Chapter 16

“I can’t, by the gods, read you,” Bruce says. And he knows he shouldn’t speak when frustrated or with little sleep but there are times when a journal isn’t enough.

Kal gets to his feet and emerges from his desk, moving closer to Bruce, but Bruce takes a step back. It pains him that all the stubbornness and pride has been replaced with desperation. No longer are Bruce’s eyes sparkling with unyielding strength.

“I know that it is with my own free will that I came here to serve you, to atone for the sins of my people,”

“Bruce, what are you talking about?”

“But you give me gifts, ask for my opinion, make me feel like I stand somewhere firm, then make me serve tea without looking at me. You kiss my hand, then not speak a word for days. Your conditions for my servitude are cruel enough, to be so near my home, yet unable to return,”

Kal takes another step closer.

“I’m not some bauble you bought at a market!”

“Bruce,”

“Or is just amusing for you to have an imprisoned prince do your bidding? You use my skills but mock me at every turn,”

“I’ve never—” Kal tries to say.

“You’re just like every other alpha—taking and taking—making fools of omegas who’d be naïve enough to be beguiled by you. Then cast aside once the enjoyment is over,”

“Bruce, settle down—” he attempts to take Bruce’s hand, but Bruce swats him away, backing further to the door.

“Are your actions at testament of the cruelty you are capable of?”

Kal realizes that talking never got him anywhere, so he takes Bruce’s hand and envelops him in an embrace.

“Unhand me!”

There it is. That haughty princely voice. A crying one.

“How dare you!” Bruce struggles in his grasp, flailing, kicking, but it doesn’t budge the alpha. “How dare you! Let me go! You vile alpha!” he thrashes for a moment more, then relents and yields, sobbing into the lord’s tunic.

“I’m sorry, Bruce. Truly, I am,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 930pm and i should be in bed. so. here's a little thing that i thought would be nicer if it had its own chapter but now idk anymore. ahahahaha if ya'll have any favorite henry scenes from the witcher lemme know so maybe i can make tweaks and sneak that gif in right?? maybe i can actually move the plot a few inches. 😅
> 
> well. there's that. i mean. if it gets any worse i can just, idk throw them in a room. i hope y'all enjoyed that lil angsty snippet. 
> 
> also i've been watching the crown so idk how that'll affect his whole thing.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you @aboutbatman and @subatlove

Kal’s legs are numb but he won’t move. He’s on the floor, cradling the servant prince who cried so hard he fell asleep.

He sighs.

He’s never been good with words. Even worse with action, except maybe with anything that has to do with a sword. He’d always had his sisters who did the talking for him, urging him to try things he hadn’t before.

Were they alive, they would have been breathing down his neck, instructing his every move, dictating every second of his interaction with others. They were the personification of the grace he should have. Instead he is a cantankerous, coarse swordsman everybody finds unpleasant.

Slowly, he lifts Bruce up and gets to his feet. He reconsiders setting him down on his own bed. That would imply he wants to bed the omega, but he doesn’t want to come across as crude. He does desperately want to bed the omega in his arms, and right now Kal is on his last string of control, biting down on the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from biting Bruce’s creamy skin. His mouth spews enough vulgarity, he doesn’t need his actions to be as boorish. He doesn’t need Martha would strike him with his own pelt until he bled.

However, he also didn’t want to invade Bruce’s privacy and enter his room.

With much reluctance, he makes his way to his own chambers and sets Bruce down on his bed.

He lights the fire, only strong enough to make the room comfortable, then quietly brings his papers into the room, hoping the dullness of paperwork will soften his aching cock. Supper passes, his cock long gone flaccid, and Bruce is still asleep. He must really have been unable to sleep for a while. He falls sleep himself waiting for Bruce to wake.

* * *

When Bruce wakes, it’s well into the night and he notices, a scent that’s wrapped around him like strong arms, then the soft sheets and the comfortable warmth of pillows. With a start, he gets up and almost falls off the bed. He hasn’t slept that well in so long.

This is His Lordship’s chambers, but the lord isn’t in bed and the only one who’s messed up the sheets is Bruce. He isn’t undressed so he mightn’t have been touched.

He sneaks out of the room, then sees His Lordship sleeping on the couch near the fire, his supper of roast bird, and the day’s paperwork forgotten on the table nearby.

Bruce realizes His Lordship set him down on his bed and slept in a chair. No other alpha would show such restraint with an unconscious omega. He returns to the bedroom, takes the fur blanket from the bed, and drapes it over the sleeping lord.

He gasps when Kal stirs, then leaves the room in a hurry.

* * *

Kal wakes up at his usual time. The first thing that catches his attention is the scent of an omega. He sits up so fast he almost makes himself dizzy. He’s somewhat disappointed that he finds the furs Bruce had been laying on draped on him, rather than the omega in his room preparing food to break his fast.

He grumbles, then brings the fur up to his nose to take a whiff. The intoxicating scent makes him hard in an instant.

Martha enters the room. “Kal, that is terribly inappropriate,” she says. No bow.

He frowns.

“Will you be needing time to care of that?”

Another grumble, but he doesn’t remove the fur from his nose.

“Alright, I’ll come back later,” she leaves.

He throws the fur over and doesn’t touch the painful hardness.

* * *

Bruce takes a deep breath before entering His Lordship’s study, bringing with him a tray of tea and cake. He is a little late, only because he and Master Ross had some urgent matters of the duchy’s numbers to sort through.

He bows as he usually does and sets the tray down on the table.

“I didn’t think you’d come today,”

“Forgive me, My Lord,” Bruce says quickly. “I was not myself,”

“There is nothing to forgive for you were honest,” answers Kal. “If anything, you were your truest self. Sometimes, it is when we feel we are about to break that the truth, most often the worst, about those who surround us reveals itself. I believe it is I who should be asking for your forgiveness,”

He’s always been eloquent and verbose, but he doesn’t know how to answer that. “Will you be needing anything else, My Lord?”

Kal searches for answer on Bruce’s face, but it seems like his outburst has abated his turmoil. He sighs, then gathers the papers on his desk to one side. “Pack clothes. You’ll be coming with me to Lakefield Orchard,”

Lakefield. He’s read that from the ledgers, done numbers for it. That’s His Lordship’s private home south of the city. “What am I to do there, My Lord?”

“Tend to me of course,”

He says it like Bruce is dumb. He is a bookkeeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well how about that an update 😅 sorry y'all work has been really toxic. i'm nearing a government audit so that's insanely stressful. and i've been trying to experiment with the baking cos im a home baker that sells from time to time. no time to write in between 😥 but i hope you liked that ahahaha huhuhu im going to bed


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you @indecisive for being my enabler. thank you for all your time and gifts.

Bruce chooses to ride in the wagon that carries all His Lordship’s belongings, together with another servant, Natasha. (1)

“I thought you were a laundry maid?” she asks when they stopped to rest the horses and gather water to drink.

They sit in the shade of a tree near the river, away from the heat of the noon sun.

Bruce looks around, pretending to appreciate the surroundings, but only making sure the guards aren’t too close to them, or that His Lordship isn’t sneaking around. Though the lord had already left hours before them before sunrise, riding on horseback together with four Sagitari.

“I was,” Bruce answers her.

“My brother said you were a scullery maid for the garrison,”

“I was,”

“And now you’re a bookkeeper,”

“Yes,”

“So why are you coming with us?” she hands him a slice of bread.

“His Lordship says I am to tend to him,” he says before biting into the stale bread.

“But you’re a bookkeeper,” she points out again. “You’re a bookkeeper. You’re smart and you know letters and numbers and he wants you to tend to him?”

Bruce sighs. “I am indebted to him. I do what I am told,”

Natasha hums. “That must be quite a debt,”

“It is,”

Bruce can only hope he has somehow shaved time off that debt.

“He really liked you, you know, my brother John,” she says thoughtfully.

“I’m sorry,” says Bruce, because that’s all he can say.

“Don’t be,” she replies. “His fault for shooting for the moon,” her laugh is whole and hearty, and Bruce smiles.

* * *

He doesn’t have much. His journals he left at the castle and in his knapsack are two tunics and a kirtle.

When they arrive at Lakefield orchard past sundown, he sets the knapsack down in a corner in the kitchen, shoves a piece of bread left for him by the kitchen servants into his mouth, then starts cleaning up after the horsemen who’ve just finished their supper. Natasha is tending to something else, it seems.

“You, take this up to him,” says the head cook, pointing to the tray of bread and hot potato soup, beside it a plate of cheese and a sliced sausage sizzling hot from the pan on the coal, with a jug of water. “There’s only one room upstairs. It’s literally impossible for you to get lost,” she puts out the coal, leaves, and Bruce is left alone in the kitchen.

He takes the tray and goes on his way. True enough, as soon as he reaches the last step of the stairs, there is a wide living area, leading to a terrace, then large doors guarded by the Sagitari, who open the doors for him.

He enters and finds His Lordship poking the fire. He bows, then places the tray on the table by the lord’s chair.

“That will be all, Bruce,” he says, putting the steel dart back in its rack. “I know you’re tired from the journey. You and your companions can rest up until late in the morning. You will be called to post at noon. You may go,”

“What about your morning meal, My Lord?” Bruce asks.

“This bread,” he says, gesturing to the tray. “Is enough for three people. I can manage for a few hours,”

With a nod, Bruce bows, and leaves.

The kitchen when he returns is still empty of the usual servants bustling around. He sighs, realizing he’s tired but not sleepy. He grabs his knapsack from the corner and sits by the fireplace.

He wishes he hadn’t said what he said. He regrets every word. No other servant would have gotten out of that room unscathed. Had he been just another common like Copper, His Lordship wouldn’t have had second thoughts about striking him for his insolence.

But it did…seem nice, to be held and comforted like that.

Then he notices an open cask of wine. He grabs a cup and fills it. He downs the entire cup like he’s parched—he hasn’t had wine in so long. Even if he were given a cheap bottle, he’d finish the entire thing. He fills the cup again, then stares at the fire, lets out another sigh. It is the longing for home that he wishes to drown in the wine.

* * *

Kal is sure that the larder is always stocked. He wants something sweet and if there aren’t any pastries, fruit, or jam in the kitchen, he’ll have to settle into bed with a bigger scowl than usual.

The first thing he notices when he enters the kitchen is the lit fireplace. He knows he’s repeatedly said to put out the fire in unused rooms at night to save firewood. What he doesn’t expect is to find Bruce, laying on his side, sleeping by the fireplace’s cinders, using a folded-up sack as a pillow.

“Bruce,” he kneels by him, lightly nudging his shoulder and quickly withdrawing his hand.

“Mmm?” Bruce mumbles.

“Why are you sleeping here? Get up,”

Bruce groans again, then goes back to sleep. Kal catches the scent of wine and sees the cup. He realizes it’s Bruce who reeks of alcohol. He’s drunk.

“What were you thinking?” he asks, not expecting an answer as he lifts the omega off the floor.

Martha will skin him alive if she finds out he’s touched an omega that isn’t his for a second time. He knows she let him slide this morning and a repeat of last night is not something Martha will take lightly.

“My Lord…” Bruce mumbles sleepily, head lolling around from the drunkenness. “So good…”

Kal stops in his tracks. Heat pools in his cheeks and blood rushes to his nethers. Like always, Bruce smells inviting. But he is on his last string of control. He rushes up the stairs, enters his room when the Sagitari opens the doors, and sets the sleeping, drunk omega down on the bed.

Sleeping, drunk omega.

His primitive instincts take over him and his bared teeth hover a breath away from Bruce’s bare neck. With a growl, he pulls back and gives into the beastly desire by biting his arm, piercing the flesh and drawing blood, just like how a bite with an intent to mate would be.

He lets go of his arm, blood dripping to the wooden floors. His heart is pounding in his ears, sweat dripped down his temples, like he ran a mile.

He could have bitten him.

“Fuck,” he pants, horror and disgust at himself with the realization. “Shite,”

Kal staggers over to the washing area, rinses the blood off with the pitcher of water, then tears a strip from the towel to wrap around his bleeding arm.

He takes a glance over at the servant prince on his bed, now curled up and enjoying the warmth of the furs and the soft pillows.

This is bad. Really bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Natasha Irons, Steel’s sister. Steel is Captain Irons in the story.
> 
> the chapters have been really far apart lately because it's been really stressful because of the virus and everything. our main island (one of three island regions) is on lockdown because of the virus. nobody can go in or out of their states/regions, and establishments that aren't health related and groceries should be closed. public transportation is also closed so nobody can go to work. even banks are closed.
> 
> and my work's been all around messy and it's mushing my brain up and i can't think of anything for the life of me. like with the US, our staples are running out at the groceries because of the panic buying however, local officials are passing ordinances that prohibit panic buying. so we can't go out other than work. people who aren't health workers aren't allowed to go to work, but i'm a support system for a company that sells and fixes hospital and laboratory equipment, so i have to go to work. it sucks. 
> 
> anyways i hope y'all are safe and if you can, please stay at home and wash your hands often, eat healthily and take your vitamins. (im also rly mad--aunt flow vibes--that i can't go out and get indian food i've been craving for WEEKS) 
> 
> xoxox


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For @susscx who puts up with me, and for @superdecibels, kakayanin natin to besh.

Kal orders one of the Sagitari to ride back to Fort Rozz and collect Martha and ride as fast as they can without of course, ruining her carriage. It will still be some time before she arrives, maybe before the sun rises. But, since he knows her well enough, she’ll ride before sunrise and arrive before noon.

Another thing is bothering him. Why was Bruce sleeping in the kitchen?

It’s the second night in a row he’ll be sleeping on the couch.

* * *

Bruce wakes up with a headache. He knows immediately that the cause is the amount of wine he had last night. What he doesn’t remember is going back up to His Lordship’s room. He stumbles off the bed, then almost slips on something simultaneously wet and crumbly on the floor.

It’s blood, and to his horror, frantically lifts up his skirts to check if it had been his. He discovers his underthings dry and blood free, and when he’s gotten his breath back and the fear ebbed, he notices a trail of it leading to the dividers covering the bathtub. It leads to a bowl of blood-stained water. He wipes away the dried-out blood on his shoes with the carpet under the tub.

Just like last night, he finds His Lordship asleep on the couch by the fire, and like a repeat of the night before, drapes the furs from the bed on the lord. The bloody bandage wrapped around his arm catches his attention. That wasn’t there when he served him supper. Had he gotten it treated? Maybe he’ll ask the cook if she kept any medicinal salves anywhere.

Bruce slips out of the room. He blushes from the embarrassment, but the Sagitari pay him no mind. He returns to the kitchen where the cook is already preparing meals for all who are already awake and tending to their chores.

Maybe His Lordship isn’t such a vile alpha after all? He wasn’t touched or used, or anything of the sort. He can be quite thoughtful.

* * *

“Where were you?” Natasha hisses, getting up from her breakfast, pulling him nearer to the fireplace. “I stayed up waiting for you so I could lock the door at the quarters!”

“Quarters?”

“Yeah. The servants’ quarters! Where we sleep! Where did you even sleep last night?”

“Here,” lies Bruce. He remembers lying down by the fire, but doesn’t remember going up to sleep in the Lord’s bed. “Nobody told me where to sleep, so I slept here,”

Natasha stares at him. “What?”

“Never mind that,” he says, sitting at the servant’s table, taking a bowl of mutton soup and a piece of bread. “Long day ahead,”

“Fine,” Natasha frowns. “But you have to help me clean up and ready the kitchen for the midday,”

“I will, I will,” all he wants is for the conversation to drop.

* * *

When Natasha leaves for the market, Bruce gathers the used plates on the table to bring them to well to wash. Just as he passes by the stove, the cook pulls him by the sleeve.

“Look here, you little wench,” she says lowly. “You’re here to clean and cook, not spread your cunt open for the lord of the house. Have you no shame? If he wants a fuck it’ll not be you. Keep your legs together and work. I’ll not have ambitious whores like you under this roof,” she pushes him out the door to the back. “Get yourself ready before noon,”

The door is slammed in his face.

“Fucking slut,” he hears her faint voice.

* * *

Martha enters the kitchen, giving the cook a fright.

“Madame Kent,” she says, covering the pot of simmering stew before turning to face the head of all the Lord’s households. “Good morning. We weren’t expecting you,”

“Grace,” Martha says her name, looking around, inspecting the cleanliness and orderliness of the kitchen. “After that confrontation, I doubt it’s a good morning for you, for me, or for the boy you just verbally abused,” she turns to her. “And yes. I heard that,” (1)

Grace huffs, attempting to defender herself. “He came down here smelling like—”

“Who His Lordship pulls into his bed, whether or not you think he’d been seduced, is none of your concern,” she says tightly. “That boy is under me, and is also the Duke’s favorite servant. If you’d like to keep your post, you’d best keep your mouth shut. If you can’t, I will happily offer to sew your lips together for you. Am I clear?”

The way she clenches her jaw in annoyance doesn’t escape Martha’s notice.

“Am. I. Clear. Grace?” Martha repeats.

“Yes, Madame,”

* * *

“Wake up,”

Kal wakes up with a start. “What?” he sees Martha saunter in and inspect the room. He is then distracted by the omega scented fur draped all over him.

“You touched him, and he slept in your bed again. The first time was an accident, the second time is intentional,”

The lord throws the fur to the floor, then leans on the threshold. “I almost bit him,” he holds his arm up to show Martha.

“What?”

“I…saw him sleeping on the floor in the kitchen. He’d had a couple of drinks, judging by the open cask. I brought him up here and…”

“And?” she presses.

“…and I leaned in too close, wanted to bite him,”

“And you bit your hand instead. Explains the blood on the floor,” she steps over the blood that had dried on the floor.

“What am I do to?”

“You’re just like your father,” she says, “Talented with a sword, yet freezes at the sight of a pretty omega,”

“He loathes me,” Kal sighs, and returns to the couch by the fire.

“He is rather difficult to read,” she sits beside him. “Much like you. You hide everything behind your eyebrows,”

“I do _not_ ,” he replies petulantly.

“I suppose it’s part of his upbringing, to be composed and remain firm and calm despite the chaos around him,”

Kal stares at the remains of the wood that had been burning all night. He knows she’s right. The night Bruce had confronted him in the throne room of the castle of Gotham, he shook in fear but stood his ground. “I want him,”

“And yet,” Martha takes one of the cushions and hits the lord with it.

“Hey!”

“And yet you growl and frown at him. Poor thing’s probably ran out of tears. If you want him, you better start thinking about actually being nice to him, treat him like an omega to be wooed not an omega to be owned. The brilliant ones like casting their own shadow, not standing in somebody else’s. Remember that,”

“Hmm,” he mumbles. “I think I’m already in his,”

“Good. You need putting back in your place every once in a while,”

Kal’s brows meet and he looks at her in mock offense.

She pinches his cheek. “Be ready for a resistance and a fierce response from your people, my dear. Bruce is in a precarious position, and your duty to your people is to choose a mate who will put the country’s best interests first. He is a part of a bleak piece of our history. Very recent history,”

He can’t form the words for the inexplicable desire for him. Bruce is the most incredible person he’s ever met. Thomas helped raise Bruce into an extraordinary person. He is beautiful, intelligent, and for some reason, dangerous. It fires up every inch of him. 

“Right then, do you want a bath or breakfast? I recommend a bath,”

“Breakfast,”

“Of course, My Lord, but you’ll have your bath immediately afterwards. You smell like Krypto,”

* * *

Bruce changes into the clothes he brought and heads out to the lake to wash them in peace. He doesn’t want to attract any more attention after what happened with the cook. If someone had heard that and gotten any ideas, he’ll be unable stop or remedy any incidents that might happen.

His clothes were saturated in the scent of alpha, and while that would be helpful fend off any other rut-headed alphas, it’s inappropriate.

Under the shade of the a tree he waits, and it doesn’t take too long for the thin clothes to dry under the searing heat of the sun, just enough time for him to walk back to the estate to help Natasha in the kitchen, have his midday meal, and bring up a tray of food to His Lordship.

“I know you,”

Bruce hears the voice just as he’s finishes folding his clothes. He turns around and sees a brutish looking alpha approach.

“I know you very well,” he smirks. “Oh, I do,”

The omega steps back, ready to bolt into the woods and back to the house. 

“Don’t think about running now, Your Royal Highness,” the sound of his heavy footsteps on the grass sends a chill down Bruce’s spine. He’s the kind who could easily pin an omega down and take whatever it is he wanted.

“I have nothing, go away,” Bruce knows who this is. Anatoli Knyazev, one of the travelling merchants who pedaled a good quality leather, something that they had used a large quantity of for the war preparations.

Bruce had reluctantly gone to meet him to discuss transaction Thomas had wanted them to make. Thomas sent him away for the remainder of the transaction, citing no explanation. Now he knows.

“On the contrary, you do,” the smirk turns into menacing full-teethed grin as he taps on his neck. “I can smell you from way over here, Bruce,”

Bruce scoffs. “No,” there is no way he'll let this garbage anywhere near him.

“Yes, because if you don’t, well,” he chuckles, so sure of himself. “I wonder what the people of this countryside will do, when they find out the brother of the king who murdered their loved ones, is right under their noses?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Amazing Grace is a villain, the sister of Glorious Godfrey, Amazing Grace was a loyal servant of Darkseid on Apocalypse.
> 
> (2) Anatoli Knyazev is KGBeast. 
> 
> I hope you'll like what's next :)
> 
> *EDIT: the scene with Martha and Grace was inspired by Downton Abbey. When Cora fires Nanny West. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JJmvOvRhXKc


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you @indecisive for all your gifts, ideas, and patience, and for reviewing this chapter. ilysm.

“Got what was coming to you did you?”

There is glee in Anatoli’s voice, and it makes the bile in Bruce’s stomach rise. How could someone find amusement in the suffering of others?

“Pretty little omega prince like you, waging wars expecting to win, ends up a political prisoner. Justice works in mysterious ways, doesn’t it, Your Highness?”

No, he didn’t wage a war. He tried to stop it.

“Has he fucked you?” he eggs Bruce on. “Does he leave you on the floor when he’s done? Do you like it when he pulls your hair? Does he like leaving bruises? Do you like it when it hurts?”

Even if His Lordship did, he would never. He would _never_. “Get away from me,” Bruce hisses.

“If you’re not here tonight when the moon is high and give me what I want, a mob will be waiting outside the duke’s home at midnight, asking for your head,”

Bruce runs.

* * *

The encounter earlier that morning puts Bruce on edge. Natasha is busy with the laundry after the midday meal and he can’t confide in her. The cook doesn’t speak with him and her eyes mock him, so he can’t ask anything.

When he goes to bring His Lordship lunch, he finds the lord catching up on sleep and he thanks the heavens for letting him off easy.

A beta Sagitari off duty is resting by a tree in the backyard. He goes to speak with him. Bruce knows he’ll not be able to handle this on his own.

“Excuse me,” he says with caution. “May I speak with you?”

The Sagitari looks at Bruce. “Sure,” he replies, “Bruce, right? I’m Kem-Zed,” (1)

Bruce lets out a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding. It seems like they’re allowed to talk to him. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Kem-Zed. I was wondering if you could help me,”

* * *

Kal can be a lazy bum if he wanted to. He’d been asleep all day and eating whatever it is that the kitchen had sent up to him. It’s actually quite nice to rest once in a while, but he had to admit, he is getting bored. He might go hunting tomorrow morning.

“Come in,” he says when he hears rather loud knocking on the thick wooden doors.

“My Lord,” the Sagitari bows before taking another step, and his fellow Sagitari closes the door.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Sir, there’s an unsavory individual prowling the area just outside of the property, in the woods near the lake,”

The Sagitari now has Kal’s undivided attention. “Source?”

“One of the servants, sir,”

“ _Which one_?” Kal presses, jaw tightening and patience wearing thin.

“Bruce, My Lord,” Kem says. “He claims he’d been threatened,”

“What? And what are the guards doing not scouting the perimeter?” he barks. “The perimeter does not mean up until the gates! Or is it not their job to protect those who work in this house?”

Kem doesn’t know how to answer that, so he pulls the discussion back. “Bruce seems like he wants to handle it on his own; I gave him a blade, but I’ll follow him tonight,”

Kal recalls Bruce’s skill with a blade, more so stealing the blade, not using it, but skill all the same. Besides, he wouldn’t have stolen and threatened to use it on the wandering drunk had he not known how to wield it.

“I’ll go with you,” he paces in front of the fire. There is a sudden thirst for a fight that ignites in him. He tries his best not to seize the sword above the fireplace and unleash his anger on the wooden table next to him.

How dare they. And Kal knows, that if Bruce is trying to resolve this situation on his own like he always does, it will most likely end up in him getting hurt in more ways than one.

“Come fetch me when Bruce has gone to the woods. I’ll be behind you,”

“Yes, My Lord,”

* * *

At the clearing by the lakeshore, leaning on a tree, Anatoli catches the sweet scent of unmated omega as a breeze blows. He takes a good lungful, almost feeling refreshed from the addicting scent. He can’t wait to taste that skin.

“I’m delighted to know you’ve made your decision, Your Highness,” 

Bruce emerges from foliage and approaches his blackmailer but keeps some distance. He takes a handful of his skirt just to make sure that the knife the Sagitari gave him is there, letting it envelop him with a sense of security.

Anatoli bows low just to mock him. Nobody’s bowed in his presence in a long time, he can’t say he misses it—he’s the one bowing to His Lordship every time he sees him.

“What do you want?”

“Not much,” answers the merchant.

Bruce doubts he’s only a merchant. No mere peddler of quality leather would have this much audacity to demand anything of royalty even if he had connections. Then again, Bruce isn’t royalty anymore, and if Anatoli has figured it out that Bruce will do anything for his people, he knows Bruce won’t say anything.

“Only my cock in your mouth, and the lips of your luscious cunt squeezing my knot, fill your womb with my seed, or paint your face with it,”

Bruce, having eaten nothing the whole day from the anxiety of tonight’s confrontation, feels sick. He turns around, falls to his knees, heaving saliva and acid onto the grass. He hears the alpha chuckle as he comes closer.

“That’s a way to lard up your mouth, make it easier to fuck,”

* * *

Kem keeps his distance. He’s glad the moon is bright enough that they don’t need lamps. Slowly he moves closer, avoiding any rocks or twigs that might make a sound as he tries to close the distance between him and Bruce. From the trees, he sees the alpha who’d threatened Bruce earlier that day. He’s dressed properly, but he looks like a common deserter: unkempt hair and hastily shaved mustache and shadow.

He’d brought Kal some of the scented oil Bruce had put on before coming here, just to mask their own scents and cloak them for a while. He doesn’t see the Lord behind him and hopes that Bruce won’t have to use the blade he gave him.

Bruce vomits, and the alpha approaches, positioning himself in front of Bruce and grabbing his hair. Kem’s about to draw his sword and attack, but he feels a hand firmly grip his shoulder.

“Hold your position,” whispers Kal, hand clenching the grip of his sword. “Only come to his aid when he calls for it,”

* * *

Bruce gasps when the alpha grabs his hair, then pulls him up for Bruce to get to his feet, and presses his nose and mouth to Bruce’s neck. He takes a good long inhale of the sweetness, enjoying the way Bruce makes a struggled attempt at pushing him away.

Anatoli doesn’t let go of his hair, pushes him back down on his knees, then presses his face to his crotch. He finds himself about to get sick again. He hears another low chuckle from the alpha and this time it stirs the rage in Bruce.

“I’ve never had an omega this pretty about to suck my cock before,” Anatoli tighten his grip on Bruce’s hair, making Bruce wince. “Not a lot of people on the continent would be able to brag about fucking an omega prince’s mouth, or knot a pretty little cunt like yours. I can’t wait to fuck your womb open, Your Highness—!”

The alpha doubles over and falls to the ground, closing his legs together, writhing in pain. The pain creeps into his thighs and his stomach.

Bruce spits out the remnants of acid from his mouth. He never thought punching someone in the crotch would be so satisfying.

* * *

“I think, I think I need to lie down,” Kem breathes, leaning onto a tree, unable to help grabbing his own crotch.

“What?”

“I felt that, didn’t you?” the Sagitari lets out a long exhale. “Rao, that omega’s got fire. Shite, I feel like my balls need ice,”

“Hnn,” Kal smirks.

Bruce has an inferno in him.

* * *

Bruce readies the dagger in his pocket. He doesn’t want to use it, but if the alpha attempts to attack him, he’ll fight back. There is already too much blood on his hands; he doesn’t want any more spillage. It terrifies him that this will be another casualty for the safety of his people, his brother. The ends will never justify the means.

This alpha will probably end up killing him, but he can’t die, or his people will suffer.

“Fucking slut!” Anatoli spits, struggling to get on his knees, pain still flaring from his crotch down to his thighs and up his stomach.

He lunges toward Bruce, making the prince shriek. Stunned, he doesn’t realize he’s stabbed the alpha on the stomach. Anatoli falls back to his knees, applying pressure to the wound in attempt to slow the bleeding.

Bruce’s heart is pounding, his hands, cold, clammy, and shaking, but he tries to keep his composure. There’s blood on the blade and on his skirt, and it’s making him nauseated.

“You think,” Anatoli laughs, looking up at the omega standing in front of him.

Bruce sees from his peripheral vision Kem-Zed rushing to him, and behind him, a man with a head of white hair.

“You think you can kill me with a dagger? Wait, no, you think you can kill me?”

Bruce drops the blade, unable to look at the blood he’d just shed, the red liquid smearing on the grass. He brushes the soil off his skirts and grabs a handful of it to wipe the sweat from his hands, ignoring the droplets of blood that has soaked into the thin cloth. He closes his eyes, takes a breath, then looks Anatoli in the eye.

“Oh, no,” says Bruce, “Delicate omegas such as I don’t do well with dirty work. I won’t kill you. But _he_ will,”

Anatoli’s laugh is cut off by the blade of a broad longsword at his throat.

Kem notices a change in demeanor in Bruce. He is looking his attacker in the eye, hands together in front of him, and shoulders square, and head high.

He takes a step toward Bruce, hoping to pull him away from what he expects to be carnage. But Bruce holds a hand up to him without looking at him, freezing him in place. Why is he obeying the servant?

“Anatoli Knyazev, let me introduce you to His Lordship, the Grand Duke of Fort Rozz, Kal of House El,”

This is different. _He_ is different. This is not the servant who’d asked for help this afternoon.

Anatoli gets a good look at the duke. He is every bit looking like the warlord people say he is. Dark, stormy eyes, brows knit together, the anger in his face making him look older than his thirty years, and from that scowl he can almost hear a growl.

Kal enjoys watching the terror in this piece of shit.

“I don’t believe you’ve met,”

“Please—”

Kal pulls the blade in a quick motion, piercing the skin and bone in the neck. Blood spurts out, splattering all over, staining the grass, and some droplets ends up on Bruce’s face. Kem is stunned and petrified that Bruce hadn’t flinched.

The body drops to the ground with a thud, twitching, struggling to breath through a torn neck as the blood pools around him. Anatoli is still looking at Bruce, but Bruce is looking at Kem.

“The dogs must be hungry,” he says. “Would you mind feeding them, Kem?”

“What?”

Kal pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and starts wiping away the blood from Bruce’s cheek. Bruce gratefully takes the cloth and cleans up his face. “You heard him,” Kal turns to Kem.

“Seems an awful waste. He can’t and mustn’t be traced,” Bruce pockets the handkerchief to be washed later, and steps away from the body. “I would like to lie down now,” he offers a hand to Kal, which the lord takes without hesitation. Bruce holds onto him tightly, hoping he won’t wretch at the slightest movement. (2)

Kal drops his sword, then pulls Bruce close to him to prevent him from falling over. He’s shaking and his hands are cold. “Clean the sword and the blade in the lake. Fetch the others and feed the dogs,”

“Yes, My Lord,” Kem watches as the duke escorts Bruce to the house.

Bruce is most definitely _not_ a servant. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Kem is Seg-El’s friend from Krypton. He’s a bartender in a bar that serves the rankless (those without guilds and sigils). He doesn’t have a surname. A woman named Mama Zed raised him.
> 
> (2) Taken from A Little Priest by Stephen Sondheim. “Seems an awful waste... such a nice, plump frame wot's 'is name has... had... has… nor it can't be traced...” One of my favorite songs!
> 
> okay holy shit a thousand kudos?? i love every single one of you to the sun, pluto, and back. thank you so so much y'all are gifts from the lord. bless you.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for @indecisive. ilu.

“Better?” Kal asks when Bruce has had a cup of water.

They’re in the lord’s chambers, Kal kneeling in front of Bruce as the young prince sits on the bed, still shaken and crying, still holding tightly onto Kal’s hands.

“No,” Bruce sobs, unwilling to let go of Kal’s hands, “No,”

“It’s alright, no one’s going hurt you anymore—he’s gone,”

The words don’t imprint on him. But Kal is wrong. There will always be someone hurting him. The lord himself, too, even if he doesn’t mean to.

“I’m sorry,” says Bruce, “I didn’t want it to turn out that way,” he’d never been so afraid for his life, not even when he offered himself to be taken by Kal. “I didn’t want his blood on you,”

Bruce at first only wanted to talk the alpha out of it, but the alpha had gotten way ahead of himself and had gotten too physical, and Bruce saw no other option but to fight back.

“I’ve blood of many others on me, Bruce,” says Kal, “He hurt you. There’s no other reason his blood shouldn’t be spilled by my blade,” he brushes a tear from Bruce’s cheek with this thumb. “You should rest,”

Bruce nods and reluctantly let go of Kal’s hands. The protective alpha pheromones Kal is releasing calm him down. He moves to stand up, hoping he’ll be able to make his way to the servants’ quarters on his own, but Kal puts a hand on his knee.

“You sleep here,” he says, “I’ll sleep on the chair,” Bruce wants to argue, but the lord gets to his feet and presses a kiss to Bruce’s forehead. “Remember, Bruce. I will always, always, protect you, even if I have to play judge,”

Bruce watches as Kal leaves.

* * *

Kal knows this isn’t the right time. Bruce is scared and shaken, and here he is thinking the control Bruce had over the situation and seeing him completely hold his own and ease back into his princely poise, is the most erotic thing he’d ever seen.

He finalizes the decision to go hunting tomorrow. Maybe the tension in his body will ease if he finds a large animal to kill. Maybe gift it to Bruce? Would Bruce like a rug or a coat out of it? Would he even accept it?

He sighs, throwing another log into the fire and poking the burning ones under it.

* * *

Bruce reluctantly removes his kirtle and dresses down to his smock. He hangs the kirtle over the back of a nearby chair, hoping to wake up early enough tomorrow that His Lordship doesn’t catch him wearing so little, and to wash off the blood on it. Half under the covers, he sweeps his hair to one side and ties it into a loose braid to keep it from tangling.

It is when he’s made himself comfortable under the covers that he’s realized, he’s slept in the lord’s bed three times now. He is unable to dwell on it too much from the exhaustion and falls asleep.

* * *

Kal barely had any sleep, but he’s up before sunrise and waking the household telling them about his spontaneous desire to hunt. He’s at the armory gathering his weapons, handing them over to Kem-Zed, who hasn’t had any sleep either and will act as squire for the hunt.

“Have you fed the dogs?” he asks, grabbing some bolts and putting it in his quiver.

Kem closes the door before answering. “We left it to the pack of wolves that caught the scent sometime after you left. There was a considerable number of them, and most was gone in a short amount of time. We wrapped what was left, tied it to a hefty boulder and threw it in the middle of the lake. We burned the clothes, and watered the blood on the grass,”

“Good. You and your comrades will be getting compensation for doing as asked and for keeping your mouths closed. I’ll speak with Dev-Em and Lyta-Zod when we return,”

“Thank you, My Lord,”

Kal turns to him, handing him the crossbow he’s chosen to hunt with. “No, Kem. Thank _you_ ,”

* * *

The sound of clinking metal slowly eases Bruce from deep sleep. He still feels terribly exhausted and wants to drift back off, but the sun is shining through the windows and the commotion on the other side of the room tell him otherwise.

Suddenly he’s yanked off the bed by his braid, throwing him onto the floor. His temple hits one of the chairs nearby, and when he looks up, he sees the cook with a furious, reddened face, so angry she could have been steaming from her ears.

“You filthy little slut, how dare you!” she hisses, hitting Bruce’s cheek so hard her own hands stung. She grabs the sleeve of his smock, pulling at it with such force the sleeve rips off, and the buttons on his chest pop. “I warned you!” she says, “I warned you to keep your fucking legs closed!”

Bruce gasps when she yanks his braid, dragging him across the floor with it. He tries to pull his braid back to force her to let go and ease the pain in his neck and hairline, feeling like the hair will be ripped off his scalp.

“I will not let a whore serve in this house,” she grips onto Bruce’s braid tighter, wrapping it around her fist like a rope to pull harder. “Do you hear me? Fucking whores like you seducing noble souls like His Lordship, intending to plant a bastard in your own belly, to extort money! No shame!”

Halfway across the adjoined study, the large doors to the chambers open, revealing the lord of the house fresh from his hunt, ready for a rest or a bathe, and the majordomo of all the lord’s estates, Madam Martha.

* * *

In half a second Kal’s blood rises and boils. He throws the unloaded crossbow to the side. He almost wishes it were cocked and the arrow would fire and hit the wall a few inches from the cook’s head.

“What is the meaning of this?” he barks. Bruce’s smooth cheek is red and purpling, hair tangled, temple bleeding, and smock torn apart that half his chest is bare.

“My Lord,” says Grace immediately, pulling the hair up as if to show Bruce’s head as a prize. Bruce gasps in pain, clawing at the Grace’s heavy hand. “I found this wench sleeping in your bed—”

“Unhand him at once!” he yells.

As soon as Bruce is dropped to the floor, Kal takes his riding cloak resting on the back of a chair and wraps it around Bruce’s to shield his virtue from prying Sagitari eyes. He helps Bruce to his feet, brings him back to the bed, then returns to the living area, grabs the cook’s arm, and hauls her into the hallway. The Sagitari close the door behind them.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he growls at her. “ ** _I_** put him in my bed last night! **_I_** left him there to _sleep_!” he can’t help but raise his voice at the cook, who looked close to soiling her petticoat. “I expected him _awake and dressed for breakfast_ , not beaten and dragged across the floor like a _butchered pig_!”

Grace turns to the majordomo, the paleness of her face, and shaking and clamminess of her hands do not elicit a reaction from Martha like she hoped it would. Martha knows she doesn’t have any excuse for she had already been warned. “I’ll take it from here, My Lord,”

“No,” says Kal. “You’re dismissed. Permanently. Find me another cook. I’ll not eat food prepared by such contemptuous hands,”

Grace falls to her knees, sobbing.

Kal ignores her and returns to his room, leaving the servant to Martha.

* * *

Bruce grips the cloak tightly.

 _Remember, remember_ , he thinks. He tries to recall the smell of the dewy grass and the rose bushes in their garden, the sound of the leaves rustling as the breeze blows, and the warm, delicate touch of the sun on their skin.

He tries to recall the gentle rumble of Thomas’ laugh. It always helped calm him down.

_Thomas laughs. He tries not to, but Bruce is a darling. “It’s only a ladybug, little brother, nothing to be afraid of,”_

_6-year-old Bruce on shaky legs, hiccupping, absolutely terrified of the red crawling insect on the Thomas’ hand. “It won’t bite?” he sniffles, watching Thomas lightly push the ladybug with a finger to encourage it to fly._

_“If you don’t hurt them,”_

_Bruce watches as the bug flies away._

_“Remember, Bruce, to always be kind to all living things,”_

_“Even the bugs?”_

_“Even the bugs. But if they bite you first, you have all the right to squash them with your tiny foot!” another laugh escapes the king as he gives Bruce tickles._

_Bruce shrieks, fear forgotten, and joins Thomas in laughter as the king lifts the infant prince off the ground, and throws Bruce up in the air, then kisses his plump cheek when he’s safely back in Thomas’ arms._

“Bruce?”

He hadn’t been kind to all living things. The merchant is dead.

He looks up and sees Kal set some clothes down on a bed, holding a wet rag he uses to wipe the blood off his temple.

_“Little brother, nothing to be afraid of,”_

He wants to ask what he did wrong. Had he crossed her? Had he not done all that was asked? Had he not served with all his being?

They should go back to the castle. Bruce has brought nothing but trouble here.

“It’s only a scratch, no need to stitch it,” says the lord. “Needs some salve to move the healing along, other than that, I doubt it’ll leave a scar,” he sighs. “The bruises however, it will take a while to heal,”

Bruce nods. “Thank you,”

“I have…” Kal exhales, then gestures to the clothes next to Bruce. “You can change into these and try rest for a while more. The cook’s been dealt with,”

Again, Bruce watches as the lord heads for the living area of his chambers. He hears metal clatter, a window open, then a crash. Kal must have thrown the tray of food out the window.

He has a lot of reservations about changing into the clothes given to him. Mostly because an omega wearing an alpha’s clothes implied that he’d slept with him or has plans of seducing the alpha who owns the clothes. After all, alphas like scenting whomever they desired to mate, and seducing the lord never even crossed his mind, though he did expect and feared that he’ll be pulled to the bed and bred. Lord Kal is unreadable but isn’t crude or perverse, nor does he have such beastly urges.

The coat falls from Bruce’s shoulders and he removes the torn smock off, then pulls on the tunic and breeches. The tunic is loose, neck hole shows too much of his collarbone, sleeves cover his hands, and the breeches felt more like a skirt from looseness. He looks dwarfed in it.

But it’s comfortable and he feels safe.

* * *

“Tell them to bring up bread, fruit, and some cheese enough for two,” Kal tells the Sagitari on guard at the door.

When he turns around, he sees Bruce standing by the fire place, dressed in his clothes. Kal swears just the sight alone is enough to leave him swollen and wet in his breeches.

“You threw the food away,” says Bruce, looking at the open window.

“Don’t say it was a waste,” Kal humphs. “Food prepared by illogically scornful hands shouldn’t be consumed. It’ll spoil and upset your stomach. If you’re hungry, I’ve had them send up some bread and cheese,”

There is a moment of silence between them; Bruce thinks of what to say, while the lord is trying his best to keep some semblance of propriety.

“Thank you,” Bruce finally speaks after the painfully awkward pause.

“You’re welcome,” Kal nods, though he’s not entirely sure what Bruce is thanking him for. He did say he’d always protect him.

To ease the tension and hopefully break the embarrassing stillness between them, Kal tells him of his hunt.

“I, uh…” he gathers his words. The gesture he is about to make is something he should have done ages ago. He knows this isn’t the best time, but he’s too wound up not to say anything. “You have gone through much the last few days. In the last year alone I’ve…been inadvertently cruel to you. I thought of giving you a favor or gift to apologize, but I’ve no favors or gifts to give you. So I went on a hunt and killed a bear for you,”

Bruce is taken aback. “A bear?”

“Yes, alone, with a sword and crossbow. There had been one roaming scaring the folks of a town nearby and killing livestock,” Kal answers tightly, as if trying to defend his capabilities as a lord protecting his estate, and a hunter. “The tallow we can use for medicine and cooking, the meat we can consume, and the fur I’d like for you to have as a coat or a blanket. Or a rug. Whichever you prefer,” (1)

Most would gift close friends with books, jewelry, and handkerchiefs, and this lord has killed a bear for him. “Is this a courtship token?” Bruce asks.

Kal turns pink to his ears. “Yes,” he says. “Like the journals and the scarf,”

The journals and the scarf!

“That was a long time ago,” Bruce says, and Kal can clearly hear the disbelief in his voice. “And your clothes as well?”

He shifts awkwardly on his feet. “Yes, and yes,” he’s never said yes so many times in one conversation.

“Why didn’t you say something?”

Kal likens this to an interrogation. He feels uneasy but relieved to be freed of the secrets he didn’t know he kept. “I didn’t think it would need such a declaration. I’ve been told I’m quite thick and socially inept,”

Bruce sighs. “They’re not wrong,”

Kal frowns. “You don’t have to agree so loudly,”

“Then I’ll have to whisper,” Bruce approaches him and bows. “I accept the apology and gift, My Lord,”

Kal feels as if a weight is lifted from his shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) In Witcher 3 you find a lot of bears to kill.
> 
> Okay, so I know you don’t give a shit because I’ve made out Thomas to be the villain, or whatever. But he’s not, okay. I promise. Everybody’s just a victim of manipulation. I also would like to share with you some headcanons about Thomas that a friend and I have about him.
> 
> Thomas is 16 years older than Bruce. He has taken the responsibility of raising him after their parents died. He is an alpha who spoils Bruce with lavish gifts and education, and letting him stir Thomas into his plans for the kingdom, and is overprotective of him with regards to whom Bruce must marry. He is unmarried because he planned on abdicating and letting Bruce ascend to the throne and let his children inherit it (only because idk who to pair him up with). He planned on it. But now he’s changed his mind and he has to do something else.


	22. Chapter 22

After a small cube of cheese from the platter brought up to the chambers, Bruce tries his best to pull himself together, put the events of the last few days aside, and chooses to return to his tasks when the lord falls asleep as exhaustion catches up with him. Quietly, he snatches his kirtle from the chair by the bed and leaves the room. Just because he’s caught the lord’s eye, doesn’t mean he’s no longer a servant.

The last few days has drained Bruce more than he likes and dares to admit. Last night might have been the scariest moment of his life yet. He stood in the clearing with more fear than when he confronted and offered His Lordship to take him. 

Thankfully, Natasha must be at the market and there is nobody around. He immediately changes out of Kal’s clothes and into his own, lacing up his kirtle in a rush. The lord won’t wake for a while, leaving him with enough time to wash his clothes and hang them to dry, and deposit them back into his drawers.

While the tunic and breeches are hung and drying, and even though Bruce still doesn’t have any appetite from all the goings on, he sits at the servants’ table eating a piece of stale bread from yesterday and some berry jam for breakfast midmorning when Natasha arrives from the market.

“You decided to show up then?” Natasha grins at him, setting all the bags down on the table. “How much did His Lordship need you?”

“Only a little,”

“What in heavens happened to your face?” she demands him when she’s gotten a good look at this face. There’s an obvious scratch on his temple with crusty blood, and a large purple blotch on his cheek. She lifts his chin to take a good look. “Have you treated this?”

“Ah, that,” says Bruce airily. “No need. Merely a scratch and a bruise that will fade. I tripped on the rug upstairs and hit the bed post,”

Natasha eyes him with suspicion. “You’re sure he didn’t lay a hand on you?”

“I’m sure,” he reassures her. “Now eat something and I’ll put that away,” he slides the plate of bread over to her, then moves over to the bags full of produce from the market. “He’s asleep. We’ll not be able get anything done upstairs,”

Still wary of the hasty excuse, Natasha breaks her fast. “Noon will be busy. Most are asleep and the squires are cleaning armor and boots. Where’s Madam Grace?”

“She went with Madam Martha,” Bruce says, depositing the produce into the larder. Grace was the larderer, and if she were still employed, she’d have berated them both for messing with her larder.

Again, suspicion grows on Natasha. When did Madam Martha arrive? They would’ve been informed if the Lord’s majordomo were to arrive. “Well, since you’re assigned upstairs and you can’t go around cleaning while His Lordship is asleep, you’ll help me prepare the noon meal. We’ve got the guards to feed, too,”

Bruce gives her a nod as he closes the doors to the larder.

“You stay in here,” she says, “If anybody sees your lovely face purpling with a bruise, they’ll accuse His Lordship of laying heavy hands on his servants. He may be harsh and hot headed, but he’s no cruel lord,”

He wants to disagree with her. He’s seen His Lordship strike a servant and he knows firsthand how cruel he can be. But he doesn’t. After all, this morning His Lordship began his attempts to make amends.

* * *

The house butcher comes in some time later with meat from the bear, then shears and cuts the meat into manageable pieces for them to cook. He also lets them know that he’ll be salting and smoking the rest to preserve it, then leaves instructions on how to manage such large quantities of meat, and how to prepare the preserved ones; and that the armorer will come by with the fur when he’s done with it.

While Natasha browns the meat on the fire with butter on a skillet, Bruce peels and chops carrots, potatoes, mushrooms, turnips, and sets aside some barley. She then boils it down on the fire with a significant amount of water in a deep cauldron. The vegetables go in, and it’s left to simmer and soften while the barley thickens the soup.

A little before the sun hits the top of their heads, the stew is done and there is enough for the entire house to last until supper, even to have some servants bring home a large bowl for their families, and Natasha is relieved to have handled such a large pot without Madam Grace.

At noon, when the sun is high and the lord hasn’t yet risen from his sleep, Bruce decides to forego charity and let the lord sleep, and prepares him a tray of food. On his tray there’s warmed bread and a knob of freshly churned herbed butter, with a large bowl of stew and a tankard of ale.

“What are you doing?” Natasha says when she sees him about to climb the stairs.

“Bringing food?”

“You said we can’t go up!”

“I used to bring him his afternoon tea and cake,” he reasons, “He doesn’t like it when the food is late,”

Natasha huffs. “I trust you, but you best not get us removed,”

“I won’t,” Bruce promises.

* * *

The guards at the lord’s door leave for a quick meal when he enters the chambers. With care and the least noise he can manage, he sets the tray down on the table near the bed.

On the bed, the lord is laid a strewn, thankfully dressed, with the sheets fallen to the floor. He sighs and shakes his head, then gathers up the linen for washing the next day. He puts the sheets aside, then cleans the floor near the divider and bathtub with the torn towel damp with water, to scrub off the blood on the floor.

Some time later, Kal wakes to the smell of bread and meat. And he wakes to a room cleaner than he remembered it to be. There are fresh towels by the tub, the blood on the floor is gone, his clothes hung on the divider to be worn again, the curtains are drawn slightly open to let some light in, and there’s food on the table.

Kal is suddenly hit with hunger, and scarfs down the bread and stew. He brings the tankard with him when he is done, making his way to the study area to see if he has something to attend to before returning to his bed for more sleep, but what he finds is interesting.

On the low wooden table by the fire, there is scattered parchment, the bookkeeper’s records are open, and his inkwell, which was on his study, is now near the open records. Bruce is at the center of the mess, wears a mask of concern that brings his brows together.

The lord raises a brow. “What are you doing?”

Bruce, in the middle of the storm of parchment, answers absently. “There’s coin missing,” he says gravely, “Not too significant an amount, but there is coin missing. The funds were deducted from a unit of the house without documented request for that coin. We see here it had been deducted, but there’s no proof it being requested for, liquidated after the transfer, nor returned to the treasurer if it had been indeed used to acquire provisions,” he hums, then scribbles onto a piece of parchment. “Is there something wrong with my calculations?”

“I’m confident in your numbers, Bruce,” Kal sets the tankard down on a table far from the papers to avoid accidentally soiling anything and on the rug Bruce is on, he makes himself comfortable in the space next to him.

Bruce hums and scribbles some notes on the edge of a copy he made of the parchment detailing the financial state of the house in the last moon.

Kal watches Bruce work, biting a lip when he discovers something he dislikes, scribbling as fast as he can to cope with the speed of this thoughts. The window at the end of the room pours sunlight into the room, haloing around Bruce as if giving him an ethereal glow.

The lord isn’t dim. He might be cantankerous, boring, and ill-tempered, somewhat myopic, and maybe even a little too attached to power, but he isn’t stupid. And Bruce has proved time and time again that he has immeasurable intelligence over Kal.

Kal can’t understand it. Bruce stabbed someone last night and stood there unflinching, half-commanded him to dispatch of a nuisance, ordered his Sagitari to dispose of the waste, and he’s never seen anything so erotic. Now, Bruce is minding his estate’s finances, discovers miscalculations and the lord can’t help but find it seductive.

He leans in closer to Bruce, flared nose not quite touching the sweet-smelling omega’s shoulder. 

“Bruce,”

Focus broken, Bruce turns to the lord. “Hm?” and finds the alpha inches from his face.

“May I kiss you?”

They’re so close together they almost share a breath.

“Yes,”

Kal doesn’t waste time and leans in to press a soft kiss onto Bruce’s lips.

Bruce opens his eyes when the lord pulls away.

A quite pause.

“You’re still missing 3 shillings and 5 pence, My Lord,” he says softly. (1)

A harrumph comes from the chamber entrance.

Lord and servant look over their shoulders and find Madam Martha by the door.

“That is highly inappropriate behavior with an omega, My Lord,” she chides him.

Kal lets out a chuckle, because of course, Martha is going to force propriety on him and make him work for Bruce's hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Not saying that the year is 1270, but according to https://www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/currency-converter 3 shillings and 5 pence is equal to £124.68 in 2017.
> 
> \---
> 
> I went on a mental health break. And it has gone on long enough.
> 
> If you have a problem with me writing bottom!bruce and preferring him a bottom cockslut whore with a loose creampied mancunt, or with a dripping wet pregnant omega pussy and engorged lactating tits with enough milk to end world hunger, block me from all your fandom consumption and close the tab, then get the fuck out of my face. If you think there’s not enough bottom!clark for your tastes, fucking write it yourself. Don’t come to me thinking you can bully me into writing bottom!clark because I won’t.
> 
> I am only trying to enjoy something and sharing that joy with other people. I have already experienced this kind of anonymous bullying before and I have spent my entire fandom life trying to avoid it. I have tried my entire fandom life to keep out of drama, to keep to myself, and not socialize in shipping circles or servers or whatever because I know the kind of mess that goes on in them. I don’t even join bangs for fear of this. I thought maybe if I kept to myself nobody would come to me with bullshit. I guess I was wrong.
> 
> One of you to had the fucking audacity to tell me that “all my fanfics are wrong” and “that one day I’ll see the right way” or that “the right way to ship superbat is clark bottoming” some other bullshit you keep telling yourself. I hope you never, ever find a fanfic that’s just right for you, and tickles all the kinks you like, that’s so good you keep rereading it until the author updates, or forego sleep and stay up all night just to finish it.
> 
> Let’s start over, shall we?
> 
> Hello, my name is Rose. I am known as littlechinesedoll on AO3, and littlechinesedoll and cumdumpsterbrucie on tumblr. Bruce is a bottom slut whose asshole and pussy is made for taking Superman’s cock. And I will keep writing Bruce as a bottom slut for those who love bottom!Bruce and out of pure fucking spite for people like you.
> 
> Thanks for coming to my TED talk. 


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you've seen me turn bruce into cinderella. get ready cos im about turn him into merida 😂
> 
> it's my birthday so you get a word vomited chapter

The most Kal will get is a slap on the wrist. Then again, there is no need for Martha to raise her voice, or do even anything, to school the misbehaving lord in question.

Martha instructs Bruce to return to his duties and leave the parchment where it is.

“He’s a bookkeeper,” Kal argues when Martha has closed the doors and Bruce has gone back down to the kitchens.

“At the castle, he’s a bookkeeper,” counters Martha as she gathers the parchment and books to set aside. “You brought him here as a servant, not a clerk to handle your books,”

“He found something,” Kal presses on. He’d like to take a look at the ledgers himself but he’s no bookkeeper.

“That something, which, if I’ve heard correctly, 3 shillings and 5 pence, was used to purchase half a quarter of barley and half a quarter of wheat, a fortnight and a half ago, for milling into flour and made into bread, and of course, to be put in meals such as the stew served to you,” she explains. “But as it turns out, she did not record the deduction from the treasury, nor liquidate the purchase for reasons she cannot verbally express from the emotional toll of this morning. Will that be all, My Lord?”

The cook gives him yet another reason to despise her very being. “Where’s the proof that the money went to the miller?”

“We’ll get to that when the scribe I sent to the miller comes back,”

* * *

“What do you think we should make for midday tomorrow?” Natasha asks when Bruce returns from the upper floor. “We can’t possibly serve bear again,”

Bruce takes a seat at the table opposite Natasha. “We’ve got a pile of carrots,” he shrugs. “Hare, maybe? With wine?”

Natasha’s eyes widen and gives Bruce a grin. “Where do you get these ideas? That sounds lovely! We could put mushrooms in it, too! Non-poisonous ones of course, and maybe we can toast buttered bread to serve with it!”

“For supper what about freshwater fish, with bread, cheese, and wine, maybe a little soup with vegetables made from the bear bones,” Bruce shrugs. He liked bread and soup, and Thomas liked wine and cheese. They liked sharing something simple at supper after a day of politics and running the castle.

“I’ll go see the hunters and anglers, and you go see the butcher,”

* * *

Thankfully, the butcher hadn’t left the premises yet and is still working on the rest of the bear when Bruce goes to see him. Other than the butcher’s presence, Bruce is also thankful the butcher hadn’t commented on the large purple bruise on his face and the gash on his temple.

“Excuse me,” Bruce says as he approaches the table. “Hello,” he flinches when the butcher whacks the cleaver down to separate a joint from the bone.

“How might I help you?” says the butcher, setting the piece of meat and bone aside.

“Tomorrow we’d like to serve some hare for His Lordship for the midday. I would like to ask you to prepare the carcasses for us. We’ll ask the hunters to come see you after they’ve caught enough for the house,”

The butcher nods. “Sure,”

“Thank you,” Bruce says.

He leaves for the grounds and sees Natasha with the hunters, perhaps already asking them to catch some hare for them. Some of the archers are practicing on the targets, teaching some apprentice hunters, and some are lounging by the trees, resting.

He remembers begging his brother to ask the archery captain to teach him. It didn’t take much begging; Thomas never really denied Bruce anything unless it was uncalled for or too inappropriate or dangerous.

He approaches the weapons resting on a bench under a tree and runs a finger over the smooth wood as he becomes homesick. They use longbows while he used a recurved one.

“Ever used one before?” asks a beta hunter, biting into an apple.

“Once or twice, a while ago,” he replies.

* * *

In the midmorning, after their fast is broken, the hunters, who’ve brought the hares earlier that day to the butcher, have their hands full helping set an arena on the grounds. Late last night, His Lordship had one of the Sagitari bring a message to all servants on the grounds and those living nearby. He wanted a small tournament to be put up for everybody’s entertainment, and of course, his own.

The servants of the house been going at it since dawn, and the house’s ducal seat, which is really nothing more than a chair with a high back and padded to keep the ducal arse comfortable, has already been placed in one of the raised decks. The actual throne is in the castle. His Lordship doesn’t like sitting in it. 

At home, he and his brother hold tournaments such as these as well, for fun, to lift spirits, and strengthen morale. He’s never participated because despite being talented in his own right, an omega participating in a barbaric form of entertainment is inappropriate, and his brother, though capable with a sword himself (except maybe against His Lordship), only fought in the ceremonial fight to open the tournament.

Bruce watches from the kitchen windows as he peels and chops the vegetables to be put in the hare stew. It’s simmering over a low fire right now as Natasha drops in some spices, aromatic leaves, and salt. He sets aside the stew fixings and returns to the proofing bowl of dough he’d worked on earlier. In another, large cauldron, some bear stew prepared for the competitors and guests is being kept warm on a bed of glowing coal.

While the pot is simmering and the flavors are infusing into the hare, Natasha fixes freshly picked apples and grapes into a decorative fruit bowl. On the table deck by the ducal seat, they’ll set a bowl of fruit, juice and wine, some bread, butter, fig jam, and fresh cheese, available for His Lordship has the tournament goes on. They even asked the butcher to prepare them some slices of smoked bear meat should he ask for it.

“The gardener just picked those?” Bruce asks as he kneads the dough on wooden countertop dusted with a generous amount of flour.

“Yep,” she replies. “Madam Martha says he likes apples,”

That gives Bruce an idea. He’s not sure why he hasn’t thought of it before.

When the dough has been divided into rolls, Bruce sets it aside to proof one more time, and puts his attention on the goat cheese that has been draining. He squeezes the cheesecloth to drain any more whey from the curds, and before it loses too much moisture and its spreadable consistency, he deposits the cheese into a bowl, adding herbs and salting it before packing it into several shallow terracotta pots for better presentation.

Meanwhile, Natasha takes the tart biscuits out of the oven for them to start cooling, and as Bruce instructed earlier that day, prepares a jam-like topping made of wine, honey, spices, and finely chopped dates. (1)

“Bruce,”

He turns around and sees Madam Martha by the threshold. “Yes?” he answers, wiping his whey-wet hands on his apron.

“His Lordship requests your presence,”

“Yes, Madam,”

Natasha, stirring the contents of the pot, shoots him a look. ‘You better not have done anything,’ goes unsaid but understood.

* * *

“Ah, there you are,” His Lordship rises from his seat behind the desk, then reaches for the piece of clothing draped on the sofa, when Madam Martha brings Bruce into the room.

Bruce bows as always.

“I’d like for you to join me on my deck today as the contests take place,” he says, “And I have something for you,”

The lord lifts the piece up and Bruce’s eyes widen. They’re robes, long and flowing, made to fit over a tunic, of a deep teal color made of velvet. The color shifts darker and lighter when the cloth moves, and light touches it. There is an opening by the neck fasted by lace; the sleeve connected to the shoulder is joined only by some strips of cloth, and the same is done with the elbow joint on the sleeve. It is probably to give the wearer some mobility, and it does give a peek of the wearer’s tunic.

It’s not fancy or loud, but simple and elegant. It’s something he’d ask his tailor to come up with. For a visit to the garrison to lift the spirits of soldiers, or a picnic with guests. It’s something he’d wear repeatedly for its comfort and effortlessness.

Bruce _loves_ it.

“I’d like for you to wear it today to the tournament, only if you feel inclined,” Kal approaches and offers him the clothes.

He runs a hand over the soft cloth. It must have been expensive. “I’ll wash it before I return it,” he says.

“Return it?” Kal repeats. “There is no need to return it, Bruce. This is yours. A gift from me,”

Bruce knows the significance of gifts. In a courtship they represent whatever the alpha thinks is most important to the omega they are courting, and while Bruce knows in some ways his vanity is glaring, clothes are something he’d accept with immense gratitude. After all, he doesn’t wear anything else other than a tunic and kirtle.

“Thank you. I like it very much,”

Kal replies with an awkward nod. “I’m glad,”

“If you’ll allow, My Lord,” Martha cuts into the thick, palpable tension and awkwardness like a sharp, hot knife. “Bruce must return to his tasks preparing your comforts and refreshments for the tournament. He’ll be with you before the opening ceremonies begin,”

“Yes, yes, alright,” says Kal.

Bruce bows and follows Madam Martha out. 

Again, the lord is alone in his chambers.

* * *

There is a large grin on Natasha’s face as she helps him lace up the back. “Was it a gift? Did His Lordship give it to you?” 

A light blush spreads on Bruce’s cheeks. “Yes. I meant to return it but he insisted I keep it,”

“Of course you keep it!” she scoffs. “Why would you return a gift like that?”

“I thought it’d only be for the day. For when I wait on him on the deck,”

“If Madam Martha handed it to you, then yes, you’d have to return it. Not when an alpha presents it as a gift! Honestly, where were you raised?”

Bruce sighs. “Very far from here,”

“Clearly! Now help me lace this up so we can braid each other’s hair out of the way. You need to get out there and I need to be at the tents and see the cauldron! The bakers, too, have arrived with today’s rolls and that needs checking over. Some more water and salt might be needed if it’s already dried out,”

* * *

Kal isn’t prepared to see Bruce out of his usual clothes. While the servant clothes did nothing to diminish his beauty, clothes from a proper tailor can make anyone stop in their tracks and drop whatever it is they’re doing. At least, that’s what he did.

On the deck, Bruce is setting the table with the food and drink prepared for him. A loose braid keeps his hair out of his face and pays no mind to the healing bruise; the teal dress robe brings out the blue in his eyes enough to clear the skies. He had to commend himself for choosing that color, despite not knowing anything about which colors go well with what.

At the foot of the very few steps up the deck, Kal stands, staring at the servant pouring wine into a cup.

“They’re waiting, My Lord,” behind him, Martha says.

For a moment the lord had forgotten the opening ceremonies. “Right,” he answers and climbs the steps, waving to the cheering crowd.

* * *

Bruce is seated behind the Lord, waiting on him and refilling his tankard with wine mixed with apple juice and fresh grapes. Beside the ducal seat is a small table where the Lord’s tankard rests, with the bowl of fruit and a plate of the tarts. And he liked the tarts. Bruce is relieved. Thomas liked those tarts.

The Sagitari are barred from entering the tournament for the sole reason they’d definitely demolish any of the competition. Bruce agrees. Most win by sheer stamina and not technique or skill. Which is probably why it is enjoyed so much by many.

It takes all of Bruce’s will not to roll his eyes at the final contestant for archery. Granted, they all hit the target, most missed the bullseye, and many are hunters, not archers for the army or the Sagitari. He sighs.

“What is it?” Kal asks.

Bruce gets to his feet and approaches the ducal seat. “Just observing the archers, My Lord,”

“And what is it that you’ve observed?”

“Well…” Bruce pauses. “Their stances are inconsistent. That affects the strength of a shot. So does improper elbow rotation and too much tension on the string—”

“You fuckin’ fire a shot then!” a competing archer bellows at him. “Go on! Shoot!”

Bruce looks to Kal for permission. The lord nods, gesturing for him to take the bow and quiver a squire has at the ready.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” the archer says coolly.

Bruce is too excited to even register the hunter’s cockiness as he fastens the quiver’s belt around his waist and grabs the bow. Just a few arrows.

He places himself at a considerable distance from and directly opposite the target farthest from the Lord’s deck, and moves into the proper position and posture. He takes an arrow from the quiver, lifts it up to the bow, and draws the string.

The whispers don’t stop. Because an omega at a tournament! How tasteless for an omega to engage in something so inappropriate.

Bruce ignores the words and lets the arrow go and it hits the target dead in the center.

There is no applause for him to receive unlike his competitors before him.

Instead of responding to the lack of cheers, he draws another arrow, moves a few steps to the side, firing another arrow at the target as he walks. Another bull’s eye. It is then that audience cheers and claps in awe. There are five targets. He hits every single one of them at the center. The cheering is deafening.

He draws another arrow and this time he turns around, and aims at the duke. The cheers die down in an instant and the audience shares a collective gasp.

“Bruce!” Natasha yells from yards away.

There is an apple on the lord’s head.

He gives no time for the Sagitari and the competitors to react and fires the arrow to the horror of everybody around him.

The lord doesn’t flinch as the arrow hits the apple right in the middle, impaling it on the back of the chair.

A smile graces the Lord’s lips and he rises to his feet, giving Bruce a standing ovation. Applause from the crowd follows. Bruce bows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> literally kal's reaction  
> 
> 
> (1) These are called Arya’s Snitched Tarts!! They’re from the GoT cookbook. You can watch some chefs make it along with some other GoT recipes [here.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=60Hzb9QEG_g)


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> last time it was merida. this time it's cinderella. you can't stop me.

For a moment, he thought he’d be dragged off to the barn and held there for attacking the head of state. Instead, His Lordship is sporting a large grin, rises to his feet, and gives him applause.

He might have won the archery part of the tournament, but that doesn’t mean he gets to sit at the champions’ table. He and Natasha are busy waiting tables, but once most competitors are inebriated enough not to care about their surroundings, they get a reprieve.

Bruce returns to Kal’s table and serves him another tankard of wine, board of aged cheese, and grapes, and a bottle of cognac for him to give the Sagitari before returning to Natasha.

Music continues and the crowd sings and dances with the bard and the band. It’s the first time in a while that Bruce has been in the presence of music and food and it fills him with a lightness he thought he’d never feel again.

He stands by the table of food and cask of ale, waiting for someone call for more drink, or for His Lordship to require him.

“Good evening,”

Bruce turns to see Captain Irons approaching him. “Good evening, Captain. When did you arrive?” Says Bruce in surprise.

The captain places himself some quite close to him. “Just before you fired that last arrow to His Lordship’s head,” Captain Irons approaches and asks for Bruce’s hand.

Bruce gives it, and the captain presses a kiss to his knuckles. “But what are you doing a long way from your post?”

Irons grabs a tankard from the buffet table and fills it up from one of the casks of ale. “A raven arrived from His Lordship with orders to ride immediately to his private home,” he takes a couple of large swigs of the ale. “I volunteered so that I may see my sister and so that the Sagitari can hold the castle. They are indeed, more formidable,”

“And have you seen your sister?” Bruce asks.

“Aye,” he replies. “She still teases me about your rejection. I believe I’ll never hear the end of it,”

Bruce’s shoulders fall. “I…I’m sorry about that, Captain,”

“No, look, Bruce,” the captain tries to explain. “You have nothing to apologize for. If anything, you rejected me so eloquently it was like you wrote us into a book. And besides, you are spoken for,”

A blush creeps to Bruce’s cheeks and spreads to his ears and neck. “S-spoken for?”

“Everyone knows that,”

Bruce’s breath gets caught in his chest as the blood drains from his flushed face, panic starting to set in. “ _Everyone_?”

“Well, not everyone,” Captain Irons chuckles and takes a swig of wine. “Come now, Bruce. It’s merely a bit of teasing. But we do know His Lordship has taken interest in you,”

The band, after a quick bite of bread and stew with a tankard of ale, quickly resumes their post and music fills the refreshing night air. (1)

Captain Irons snaps to position, bows slightly, an arm behind his back, the hand nearest to Bruce as an offer. “Would you do me the honor of a dance?”

No second thought crosses the servant prince’s mind. Bruce takes the offered hand and all but pulls the captain to the center of the gathering, nearer the band. They move to the exciting beat of the drums, circling each other, throwing their arms into the air, swinging their legs to the rhythm as the lyrist continues with the shrill sound as his calloused fingers pluck at the lyre’s strings. It’s as if the high, fast staccato of the flute brings Bruce back to the great hall of Wayne Castle.

Many others join them, mostly drunk competitors, some wives dancing with sons, or maidens dancing with their closest friends. Seeing everyone in such high spirits lifts Bruce’s heart and he swells up with joy.

The lyrist, drummer, and flutist all end the song at the same note, and Bruce and Captain Irons stop breathless, and bow. A round of applause come from, the audience, their fellow dancers on the floor, and even the band.

* * *

Kal watches as Bruce enjoys himself with the very captain he turned down. Something green and venomous grows in the duke but waits until the song is over before getting to his feet and bringing himself to meet Bruce on the floor.

A blanket of silence falls over the audience, and band snaps to attention when the duke offers his hand to the servant, then starts playing a song very different from the tavern fitting melody of the previous one. (2)

Bruce bows, then accepts the offered hand, and surprises the lord when he lifts his right hand up with his left, pulls his left arm behind him, and presses the large, heavy hand just above the small of his back, garnering a shared gasp from the crowd. His right hand, he sets down on the lord’s sturdy shoulder.

“I thought My Lord despises dancing,” Bruce whispers.

“I know some,” Kal replies with an indignant pout, suddenly realizing he is much too close to an omega for propriety’s liking.

“Then I hope you can keep your feet to yourself, My Lord, because this song is for a dance called very appropriately called, the ‘Forbidden Dance,’” (3)

“What?”

“Follow my lead,” Bruce whispers.

On the next count, Bruce moves in place, swaying his body from leads Kal into rocking in position. After a few notes, he guides him into a simple pattern of steps, moving leading the lord into a step back, then pulling him back forward and then bringing him into a large turn, making the skirts of his robes billow as they move. Bruce leads him into a flow of several rotations, each step becoming larger than the next, almost clearing the floor of their guests. They don’t break eye contact as Bruce brings them back to the center of the floor.

When the notes from the flute become faster, Bruce lets go of Kal’s shoulder, lifts the alpha’s right hand over his head, does a spin out of the lord’s arms, then spins right back in. Kal immediately places his hand back on Bruce’s waist just like their initial form, and this time, he is the one to lead Bruce into another spin.

“You’re getting it,” back in the lord’s arms Bruce says, impressed.

Kal gives Bruce a small smile. “I can if I want to,”

Before the song ends, they’re back at the floor center, and when the last note from the flute is blown and the last chord from the lyre is strung, Kal lets go and steps back from Bruce, then moves a half step forward bringing his feet together, hand on his chest, and gives Bruce a bow from his neck, while Bruce bows low. (4)

For a second time that day, Bruce receives applause.

* * *

The music resumes its tavern melody, and drunk and sober guests alike rush to the floor and dance, laugh, and roughhouse. Bruce accompanies the duke back to his table, rejoining his company of Sagitari. Bruce bows again and leaves his lordship and the guards to their rowdiness, and returns to Natasha at the serving table.

“Where did you learn how to dance like that!” she demands him with excitement. “You have to teach me!”

Bruce chuckles. “Well, here and there,” he answers, hoping the vagueness will distract her.

“Well, wherever you caught that you _must_ teach me and my brother,” she says. “Although the closeness seems scandalous, it just looks so dreamy! If you’d danced at a ball like that, you’d be the talk of the decade!”

“The elders find ankles scandalous,” he shrugs.

“Hair is scandalous!” she cackles.

And then voices rise and laughter reverberates from the drunken crowd. Bruce goes over to see what the fuss is about, and then sees their dear monarch has fallen into the mud, face down, while drunkenly roughhousing with his Sagitari.

Bruce walks over to the mess. “My Lord, what _are_ you doing?”

Kal rolls over onto his back, looks up and sees two of his beloved. “It seems dancing on a stomach full of cognac is a terrible idea,”

The servant prince sighs.

“Whoever’s half-sober,” Madam Martha’s voice clearly comes over the laugher. “Bring His Lordship into the house,”

* * *

Kal wants to go back to the party. Martha isn’t letting him, and neither will Bruce if he falls into the mud again after all this effort of getting him cleaned up. The water in the tub is cold, but there is no other choice. He can’t wait for the water to be boiled; it’ll make the mud harder to get off when it’s dried and crusted on him.

He pours a bucket of water over the lord’s head, washing away most of the muddy knobs on his head of ashen hair. He throws in some scented salts into the water, then gathers all the dirty clothes and deposits them into a separate bucket, together with the mud trodden boots.

Kal grumbles, then reaches for the tankard he’d brought up with him. Bruce huffs in disapproval and easily removes the tankard of ale from the duke’s hands when he attempts to take another gulp.

“That is quite enough, My Lord,” Bruce says, setting the tankard aside. He hands Kal the soap. “Your night clothes are prepared for you when you’re done,”

“Thank you for that dance. I enjoyed it,” Kal replies. “I hope you’ll find the patience to teach me in the future,”

“I’m glad,” Bruce’s cheeks turn a light pink and Kal feels smug about eliciting a reaction like that from him. He bows. “Good night, My Lord,”

“Good night, Bruce,”

Kal decides, as he sinks into the water, he might like dancing after all. Especially if he gets to hold Bruce so close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a really hard time describing dancing, you know!!
> 
> (1) I imagined this song Drink Up, There’s More! From The Witcher 3 soundtrack for the first song <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vMxo_3oHULE>
> 
> (2) For the slow dance, I imagined this song The Musty Scent of Fresh Pâté from The Witcher 3: Blood and Wine <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O3DGGy9eHFQ>
> 
> (3) Before it was called a waltz, it was called the ‘Forbidden Dance.’ But I’m not a music pro or anything. I’m not even sure if The Musty Scent of Fresh Pâté is even a waltz. 😅
> 
> (4) just maybe imagine that dancing part in cinderella 😂

**Author's Note:**

> edit 2/2/2020 
> 
> adding character tags for Geralt of Rivia, and adding The Witcher in the fandom for search purposes. It's based on the series anyway so i'm going to tag as such.
> 
> also added Dev-Em and Lyta-Zod in the character tags, and Krypton in the fandom since i borrowed them too. just for tagging purposes.


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